The Victors Shall Increase: A Story of the 76th Annual Hunger Games
by littlehalfpint
Summary: In order to placate both the rebels and the Capitolites after the Mockingjay Rebellion, President Titania Collins has instituted a new rule regarding the Hunger Games: Every year, the amount of Victors allowed to win the Games will increase by one, while the number of tributes each year is reduced by one. How will this year's tributes fare in the Games? CLOSED SYOT
1. An Announcement

**Hi Everyone!**

 **Thanks for reading! I'm really excited to share this story with you and to receive your input. This is my first-ever fanfic, so please comment, even if it's about something you don't like or would like to see changed. The next update will take place two weeks from now or less. From that point on, updates will be weekly. If you're interested in submitting a tribute, there are further details below. Oh, and I do not own the Hunger Games; Suzanne Collins does (and yes, one of the characters does share her last name). Enjoy!**

The Victors Shall Increase: A Story of the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games

Titania Collins, twelfth President of Panem, clenched her fists, causing her fingernails to bite into her soft and delicate flesh. In all her years as President Snow's personal secretary and unofficial advisor, she had never experienced apprehension like this. Eight months ago, the rebellion that had swept through the Districts had been put down, ending the war the Mockingjay had started. The Capitol had emerged as the victor, and now things could go back to the way they were before Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen had entered the arena for the 74th Hunger Games, just over two years ago. Both of the supposedly indestructible figureheads of the rebellion were now dead; Peeta had been executed by the Capitol, and the Girl on Fire had been felled by a bullet on President Snow's lawn just before her sister Primrose had, ironically, burst into flame from an incendiary bomb. Thus, according to most of the people in the Capitol, things were returning to their normal state.

But Titania Collins knew things most others didn't.

The rebels had indeed been defeated, but only just. Titania doubted that they knew or had known the full extent of their power. If things had gone a little differently, the Districts might have won the war. The Capitol citizens, on the other hand, had no idea how close they had come to losing their carefree lifestyle and main source of entertainment. If the President had her way, neither side would ever learn would learn how powerful the rebels had been and still were, or how fragile the Capitol actually was.

Titania was not a bloodthirsty woman, but she was not the most compassionate human being either. For her, the decision of whether or not to restore the Hunger Games had been a difficult one. The difficulty that had not been caused by the moral aspect of the decision, but by the need to pacify both the Districts and the Capitol. Finally, after countless sleepless nights spent staring at her now-deceased predecessor's portrait, the young woman had come up with a compromise that would allow the Games to continue, yet steadily reduce their impact on the Districts. It was this compromise she was about to announce, and, for the first time in her life, Titania was not sure how well her ideas would be received.

The official anthem of Panem began to play, and Titania stepped out onto the stage that was just outside the front door of the President's mansion. In reality, the stage was just a hastily erected platform that covered the front steps of the President's Mansion and was level with its front door. However, Titania's usual confident bearing and calm gaze lent an air of dignity to her surroundings, as always.

Titania began to speak, addressing the large crowd of Capitol citizens that had assembled on her front lawn. "Ladies and gentlemen, I come before you this evening with news both good and grave." There. She had managed to begin the speech that would change Panem's history forever. She couldn't turn back or hesitate now.

She continued. "You have doubtless heard that a compromise has been made concerning the continuation of the Games. I am here tonight to tell you about that compromise, and to explain its ramifications. Each and every one of you knows the story of how the Games came to be, so I will not bore you with an unnecessary recitation of history. However, I will emphasize that the main point of said recitation was that the Districts had to be somehow punished for their part in the rebellion." She could hear murmurs of assent from the crowd, which almost exclusively consisted of Capitol citizens. "Given the fact that the Districts willingly choose to rebel _again_ ," Titania paused to let her emphasis on the word sink in "they should be punished. So, in keeping with the wishes of the Capitol, _the Hunger Games shall continue!"_

As Titania's clear, confident voice rang out across the manicured lawn, the crowd roared with approval. Titania smiled serenely, seeming to enjoy the elation of those who had assembled. Inside, she was quivering. In only a few moments, when she told those assembled the other part of the bargain, the crowd would lose its fervor, and many of the Capitolites might lose respect for her entirely.

 _That can't be helped. Panem can't afford a third rebellion._ She reminded herself. Brushing her worries aside, she refocused her attention on the task at hand.

She allowed the cheers to die down before speaking again. "Although the Hunger Games will continue, there will be some changes." The mood of the crowd shifted, creeping towards restlessness now that their President had announced a caveat.

"Due to the valor the rebels demonstrated during the recent conflict, and also to the Capitol's desire to show its goodwill and mercy towards the Districts, starting this year, the number of tributes in the Games will decrease by one every year. Furthermore, the number of Victors allowed will increase by one each year." Titania continued quickly, hoping to distract the crowd from doing the math. "Alliances will be formed, loyalties tested, and partnerships defended in a way that has never been seen before!"

The crowd stirred, buzzing with anticipation. Titania, feeling relieved, delivered the final words of her speech. "Long live Panem AND THE HUNGER GAMES!"

With that, the crowd went wild, chanting the President's name and jostling each other in their eagerness to rush to the stage and have a personal moment with her. The Peacekeepers surrounding Titania quickly pulled her away and hustled her back into the President's Mansion. In the meantime, a small camera crew that had filmed her speech prepared to televise it across Panem, the nation that would be forever changed.

 **Well, there it is. The first chapter of my first-ever fanfic. As stated above, this will be a SYOT story; however, it may be a little different than other SYOT stories because a) I'm new to this, and b) the story twist I thought of makes things a little different anyways. Please consider submitting a tribute. The guidelines are:**

 **PM me with information on your tribute. I'm not going to do a form for this one, so just include whatever information you want, as long as you make your tribute memorable and interesting (hint: I strongly encourage you to include a preferred weapon). Please title your file with your tribute's name, District, and gender (Ex: "Katniss Everdeen, D12F).**

 **I am currently accepting male and female tributes for Districts 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 11, and 13, along with a male tribute from 8. When you submit your tribute, please indicate your second and possibly third choice for a tribute's district should your first choice be taken. If all your choices are taken, or if you do not include backups and I already have tributes for the District you want, then I will assign your tribute to a District based on his or her unique skills.**

 **You can also submit other characters if you want, including but not limited to stylists/prep team, mentors (District and year won may be tweaked), and family/friends of tributes. Also, if there is a certain canon character you would like to see appear in the story, please let me know, either by PM or review. I'm not making any promises, but I will thoughtfully consider each request.**


	2. Betrayal and Misgivings

**A big THANK YOU to everyone who submitted a tribute. You guys are awesome!**

 **I don't have too much to say about this chapter, except that updates will be weekly from here on in. If you're looking to submit tributes, I need male and female tributes for Districts 2, 6, and 10, female tributes for Districts 3 and 9, and male tributes for Districts 4, 7, 8, 11, and 13. District 12 will not have tributes because it was obliterated during the rebellion and the survivors are living in District 13. Hence, if you submit a tribute from 13 for this story or any of the sequels, you can choose whether the tribute is actually someone who grew up in District 13 or a refugee from 12.**

 **Again, please read and let me know what you think!**

 _Lidia Hamilton, Head Gamemaker_

Lidia Hamilton strode down the halls of the Presidential Palace, struggling to keep her temper under control as she headed towards President Collins' office. Unfortunately, keeping her emotions in check was something she was hard pressed to do right now. Several very choice, extremely profane words were running through her head at the moment, proceeding or interweaving with phrases such as _How could she?!_ , _What was she thinking!_ , and most importantly, _What am I going to do now?_

The Head Gamemaker had a vague sense that she shouldn't be marching towards the President's Office when she was in a towering rage, even if that office did belong to her cousin, but right now she didn't care. Titania Collins was butchering one of the most beloved and important traditions in Panem, the way Careers mercilessly slaughtered helpless young tributes from the weaker Districts.

 _If I don't talk some sense into Tania, that will probably never happen again,_ Lidia thought grimly, knocking on Titania's office door. It was promptly pulled open by an Avox, who lead Lidia through two opulent sitting rooms before stopping in front of a large and imposing mahogany door that sported gold handles and intricate carvings depicting the main industry of each of the twelve Districts. The Avox lifted the gold handle tapped it against the door three times. Lidia, watching carefully, knew that this Avox had probably been trained to use a certain number of knocks to signal how important a visitor was.

"You may enter." Titania called out in her most imposing voice after a few moments had passed. The Avox again pulled open the door, allowing Lidia to enter before the door was shut behind her.

Titania, who was steadily working her way through a mound of paperwork that was piled on the sleek steel surface of her otherwise marble desk, looked up briefly and gestured for Lidia to take a seat in one of the two overstuffed plush chairs in front of her desk. Lidia slid into the purple chair, the one on the right, and waited for Titania to acknowledge her.

Surprisingly, Titania only waited a couple seconds before she set down her pen and leaned back in her chair. "So what brings you here today?" she asked serenely, though the calculating look in her deceptively innocent blue eyes gave away the fact that she already knew what had brought her young cousin to the Presidential Palace at this unseasonably early hour.

"Oh, give up the charade, Tania." Lidia snapped, unable to contain herself any longer. "I'm here because you seem to be intent on destroying the Hunger Games as we know them."

Titania folded her hands together and rested her chin on top of them. "Explain."

Lidia stared at her cousin, dumbfounded. Was she stupid? No, of course not; a stupid person would have never been able to take power in the Capitol, but she couldn't believe the person who had made such an incredibly poor decision was asking, her, Panem's most beloved figure, to explain why she thought said decision was such a bad idea.

"Let me start with the obvious." Lidia responded frostily. "In your speech last night, you said the number of tributes entered into the Hunger Games would decrease by one each year, and the victors would also increase by one. So in just over ten years, the Games will be gone for good. Or pointless, if everyone wins."

Titania sighed pointedly. "Contrary to what some people believe, Dia, I am staying true to what I said in my speech. The Hunger Games _will_ continue. They will change form and evolve over time, but they will always be a fixture in our society. I personally saw to that when signing the treaty with the rebels."

Lidia fought against the urge to roll her eyes at Titania's use of her childhood nickname. "I think you're missing the point, Tania." She fired back. "The Games are about bloodshed, about demonstrating our superiority over the Districts. They're about making sure the Districts distrust each other enough not to start another rebellion. Which you seem to be encouraging with your lenient punishment, if one could even call it that."

Titania fixed her cousin with a piercing stare. "In my book, obliteration or near-destruction of several Districts counts as punishment. Twelve is completely gone. The Districts have already united once. The Capitol, which is supposed to be impenetrable, experienced some warfare. Panem is ready for a change."

"So you made a compromise that satisfies no one?" Lidia challenged.

"Yes, I negotiated a treaty that contains terms neither side is overly fond of, albeit for different reasons. Both the Districts and the Capitolites need to learn they cannot have everything they want. The scales have been unbalanced for too long, and if they remain that way, Panem will destroy itself. The treaty may not be popular, but it will preserve Panem far into the future. Keeping things as they are-by which I mean the Games-will not."

"Again, your solution is destroying the Games."

"Not destroying, Dia. Transforming." Tatania stood up. "Once the number of Victors exceeds the amount of tributes, the Games will enter an exciting new phase that will thrill the Capitol. One that you will be a part of. If you can remember not to continually question my authority."

"I'm not-"

" _I_ am the President of Panem. _You_ are the Head Gamemaker. Unless you would like to resign from your position so I can appoint someone who won't argue constantly."

Lidia glared back. "Fine. But just know that I'm not the only one who's questioning your authority. There are Capitolites rioting."

"Where?" Titania asked, completely unruffled.

"Sector 7."

Titania laughed. "Sector 7 is always rioting. It's considered the fashionable thing to do."

"They were _throwing_ things at the Peacekeepers."

"I know that, because I was already informed this morning, most likely before you were even awake. My informant also told me that the material they're throwing at the Peacekeepers is literally confetti. As you can tell, I do know some things you don't, so maybe, just once, you should try to follow my lead instead of blocking the path of progress." Titania walked away from her desk and opened the door. "You may leave now."

Lidia stared at her, practically shaking in fury. _The nerve,_ she thought. _The pure and utter nerve of her._ She marched out the door, not bothering to look behind her. As she stomped down the hall, she could only think one thing: _Titania has to go_.

 _Titania Collins, President of Panem_

Titania took a deep breath after she had closed the door and returned to her seat. When she had regained her composure, she rapped the top of her desk twice. Almost instantaneously, a section of wall that was behind Titania and to her left slowly began to move outward. Out of the corner of her eye, Titania saw a tall, thin man with orange hair step out of the secret compartment that was hidden behind this particular panel of wall. The man pushed the door closed behind him and stole a quick glance in the mirror that hung on the secret door. Running his hands through his hair, he strolled over to stand beside Titania's desk.

Titania set down her pen. "How did it work?" she asked.

"Wonderfully." The man said. "I always knew observation windows like that existed, but I didn't know they were that effective."

Titania allowed heself a brief grin. "I know. I almost wanted to tell Lidia to go over there and check her face in the mirror, knowing that you could see her, and she couldn't see you." At the mention of her cousin, her smile quickly faded. "What am I going to do about her, Julius?"

Julius shrugged. "I'm not one to say. You tell me to kill people, and I kill them. You have advisors for this type of situation."

"I would prefer not to let my advisors know I'm thinking of killing my own cousin. I would actually prefer not to kill her, period, but she seems to have developed some animosity towards me since the war ended."

"She's a good Gamemaker." Julius pointed out. "She's been helping with the Games for five years, and everyone says she's the most talented one of them all. If anything, you could just have her killed off after the Games."

Titania closed her eyes, thinking. It was true that Lidia's talent was immense, but her vocal disagreements with Titania, which happened far too often for the President's taste, made her almost more trouble than she was worth. Actually, they did make her more trouble than she was worth, Titania concluded. And that could only mean one thing.

"Julius," Titania said, "I don't know how or when yet, but Lidia has to go."


	3. Call of Duty, Call of Death: District 1

_Larissa Belmont, District 1, Age 18_

 _Thunk. Thunk._

" _Just aim a little to the left, Larissa. Just a little to the left."_

 _It's my first year at the Training Academy, and I'm in the back room-the one with the spears-trying to throw them while everyone else is eating lunch. Six-year-olds aren't supposed to throw spears, and I'm pretty sure twelve-year-olds aren't supposed to help them. But my big sister loves me enough to break the rules._

 _I aim especially carefully with the next spear I throw, taking the time to position it the way Avalon has just showed me- no mean feat considering the fact that I can barely lift the thing._

Whizz!

 _This time, the spear whistles as it flies through the air, and embeds itself directly in the center of the target. I turn to Avalon with a big grin, and she high-fives me, laughing. We look like twins: same hazel eyes, same straight chestnut hairs, same tan skin. The only difference is that Avalon is several inches taller than me and her hair is slightly curlier._

 _We go to pull the spears out of the target together, laughing and talking the whole time. I love it when Avalon shows me how to use weapons. She doesn't yell like some of the trainers do, but she doesn't laugh about missing a target either, the way that blond girl two classes ahead of me does._

 _As we walk out of the room, I turn and steal one more quick glance at the target. The target_ I _hit, I think with a sense of pride. What I don't know is that I won't hit the center of any target with a spear for another ten years._

 _ **Twelve Years Later**_

I wake up earlier than usual, which isn't all that atypical, considering it's Reaping Day. I get out of bed slowly, not wanting my mattress to creak and wake up Caleb, who has a room across the hall. He's a pretty light sleeper.

We both are, after what happened to Avalon.

I pad down the hallway in my bare feet, ignoring the slight chill. Things are going to be tougher in the arena, and I'm going to have to deal with it. When I reach the bathroom, I wince as my feet hit the cold tile floor. I close the door and flip on the light so I can better see myself in the mirror.

I stare into the eyes of my reflection. They are still hazel, like the always have been. My hair reaches just past my shoulders, just as it always has.

Then why do I feel like I've changed so much in the past six months?

I shake that thought away and reach for my pearl-handled comb, a gift from my mother on my sixteenth birthday. It used to be Avalon's.

When I'm finished brushing my hair, washing my face, and brushing my teeth, I head downstairs to the Vanity Room. Every home in District 1 has them, but we're the only District that does, as far as I know. I don't know what we would do without a special room to keep all our makeup in.

I'm not surprised to find my mother there. I don't think she slept at all last night. In fact, I don't think she's slept at all since our argument two days ago.

The first thing she says is, "You don't have to do this."

I immediately turn around and walk out of the room. I can't deal with this today. Unfortunately, I find my way is blocked by Caleb, my older brother. He stands in front of me, his arms folded across his chest, frowning. He's too muscular for me to move aside, and he's a head taller than me, dammit.

"Reconsider, Larissa. Please." He says firmly.

I stand firm and glare at him. "I've told all of you. I've made up my mind."

"Don't argue with her, Caleb. You're only making her more determined." My mother says tiredly.

Though it appears that he's looking at me, Caleb is actually making eye contact with my mother, who is around my height. "You can forbid her." He says accusingly.

"No, I can't, Caleb. She's a legal adult." Mom says.

"Hello, I'm right here." I snap. "I'm volunteering to honor Avalon's memory. End of story."

"Yes, it will be the end of your story." Caleb fires back. "If anyone should have volunteered to avenge her, it should have been me, and I didn't. So you don't need to either."

"Then you're not honoring her!" I exclaim in frustration.

We both stand our ground, shooting daggers at each other with our eyes. Then, our front door slams. It's Dad, coming home from a few hours of work in the diamond mines. He comes around the corner of the hallway that leads to the Vanity Room and sighs when he sees me and Caleb locked in our "battle position", as he likes to call it.

"Hi Dad." I chirp with fake cheerfulness, keeping my eyes fixed on Caleb.

"Hi Angel". Dad responds tiredly. Today, of all days, he has chosen to use my childhood nickname. Is everyone trying to talk me out of volunteering for the Games?

Caleb spins on his heel and decides to accost Dad instead. "She's still going to volunteer."

"I know." Dad responds simply.

We all stand there awkwardly for a moment until the doorbell rings. My mother rushes past me in her haste to get to the front door, and with a start I notice that her dark blond hair, straight like mine and Avalon's, is starting to turn gray. How could I not have noticed? Maybe it's harder to tell when she keeps her hair tied back, the way she usually does.

I hear Mom reach the front door, then open it. What I'm not expecting to hear is Lance's voice. "Hi Athene. Could I talk to Larissa, please? Alone?"

"Well, I'm going to say yes, but you'll also have to ask Alexander." My mother responds graciously.

A tall young man with short dark blond hair walks into the hallway, my mother trailing behind him. Though he's only a year older than me, my best friend has the privilege of addressing adults by their first names because he is now a trainer at the Training Center. He smiles when he sees me. Amalia and Esther, my two closet friends, like to say he has a crush on me. I don't think he does.

Lance walks over to my dad and gives him a quick, firm handshake, a custom for men in District 1. "Do you mind if I speak to your daughter alone, sir?" He asks politely.

I'm impressed. Lance has always been slightly intimidated by my father, who is muscular from his long hours working in the mines and taller than Caleb, even. I suppose it doesn't help that Dad is gruff to everyone but his family and his own, close friends. None of my friends ever believe me when I talk about the jokes Dad likes to crack. Before Avalon died, he used to bring home all manner of precious stones for my mother, a jeweler, to carve into necklaces or bracelets for Avalon and me. "A gem for my gems." He would say with a grin. Now, he still brings home jewels, but he doesn't smile or joke about it.

"Larissa?" Lance asks. I jump, realizing he is talking to me and I have accidentally ignored him. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you wanted to talk in the Vanity Room." He says.

Huh. That's an odd place to want to talk, but whatever.

Dad runs his hands through his thick, dark hair, a seemingly nervous gesture. "Make it quick please, Lance. The Reaping starts in an hour and Larissa still has to get dressed."

 _No she doesn't._ I think. I haven't told my family yet, but I'm not planning on wearing anything special to the Reaping. Just everyday training clothes. I'm not going to look like a dolled-up ditz, unlike some of our other tributes. I want to show everyone I'm ready.

 _That will probably cause a huge argument too._ I think ruefully as I follow Lance into the Vanity Room.

Lance doesn't waste any time getting to the point. As soon as I close the door, he says, "So you're still going to volunteer at the Reaping?"

I try not to be annoyed, but this question is getting a little old, especially considering he asks me about once a week, ever since I told him six months ago I was planning to volunteer. He was the first person I told.

"Alright then, there's something really important I have to tell you." Lance says in a businesslike tone.

"Wait," I interrupt, even though I know it's rude, "couldn't you tell me this in the living room or something? Or my bedroom, if you only wanted me to hear it?" I don't dare say what I'm thinking out loud.

"I can't tell you this in your bedroom. Then it would be too much like a friend talking to a friend." He says. I search his face for any sign of a blush, but there's none. I'm surprised when I feel a quick stab of disappointment.

"Alright." I say serenely.

He takes a deep breath and says, very quickly, "Before your sister volunteered, she came to me and told me that if anything happened to her, I should tell you not to volunteer."

I frown. Is he lying in a last-ditch effort to get me to abandon the idea of volunteering? Because if he is, it's not going to work.

"She really did tell me that." He says, as if he can read my thoughts.

I shake my head. Avalon having conflicted feelings about going into the arena? Impossible. "You waited until today to tell me this important bit of information?" I ask in disbelief.

Lance nods. "Yes. She told me to tell you only on the day of your actual Reaping. If you decided to volunteer." He adds as an afterthought.

I consider what to say for a minute before I speak. "Lance, if Avalon would have come home from the arena, I still would have gone in to follow in her footsteps. Because she didn't come back alive, I have to avenge her."

Lance is shaking his head. "No. No, you don't."

I rush on, pressing my point, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'll see things through my point of view. "It's like the First Truth of the Hunger Games." The Ten Truths of the Hunger Games are the first thing you learn when you enter the Training Center at age six. "Everyone comes home. Only twenty-three of them come home in wooden boxes. But you can honestly say that all twenty-four tributes will come home."

"Unless you get blown up by mines." Lance scowls.

I ignore his comment and continue on. "One of the truths of my life is that I would have volunteered for the Hunger Games. No matter whether Avalon lived or not. Sure, one outcome is preferable to the other, but it doesn't change the overall fact, does it?"

"So I guess this is goodbye then." Lance says. He looks sad, resigned.

I smirk and swat his arm playfully, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't be so eager to get rid of me! We still have the goodbyes after the Reaping, you know."

"I'm going to have a hard time prying you loose from your family." He teases. I do my best to pretend I can't see the anguish in his eyes.

"Then bring a crowbar." I quip. "You better be there, or I will _not_ sign any autographs for you when I get home."

He laughs, and this time his display of joviality doesn't seem as forced. "Like I need your autograph. I still have that letter you wrote me when you were in sixth grade."

"Oh, that one." I make a face, trying not to show how pleased I am. The letter asked him to marry me. I used to have a crush on him years ago…well, maybe I still do. But just a little bit.

I walk out the door. "Are you coming?" I call over my shoulder.

He looks a little surprised to see me leaving the room, so he hurries to catch up. I stop at the foot of the stairs, a short distance away from the Vanity Room. "Can you go talk to my family in the living room?" I ask as I head upstairs to change. If I'm already dressed in the outfit I want to wear to the Reaping, it will be harder to persuade me to change. Surprisingly, Lance does as I ask questioning me. When I reach the top of the stairs, I notice he is still at the bottom, staring up at me. I mouth the word _go_ , and he nods in response, then disappears around the corner at the end of the hall. I smile, shake my head, and go into my room to change into my chosen Reaping outfit: a simple, flowing black shirt over form-fitting but not tight black pants. A pair of stout leather boots, suitable for hiking or stomping on someone's foot should someone try to physically hold me back from going up to the stage, complete the look.

By the time I come back downstairs, my friends Amalia and Esther have arrived and joined my family in the living room. Technically, people usually walk to the Reaping with their families, then find their friends once they get there, but in cases of people who plan to volunteer, it's different.

Surprisingly, my family doesn't say anything about my unusual choice of clothing. I guess they figure that if I'm going to volunteer anyways, it doesn't matter what I'm wearing.

The walk to the square is short, but Amalia, talking a mile a minute, somehow manages to narrate the highlights of my twelve years of training to everyone else present in an extraordinarily short amount of time, even though they're all familiar with my accomplishments.

"Amalia," Esther gently interrupts once we reach the square, "we need to line up now." I grin, forgetting for a moment the solemnity of the occasion. Esther is definitely the "mom" of our little friend group. My parents give me a quick hug before Amalia, Esther, and I head into the eighteen-year-old section. Once we're there, Esther finds her twin brother Brandon, who shares her wavy brown hair and deep brown eyes. I know Amalia has a crush on him, but right now she is on her tiptoes, brushing her black bobbed hair behind her ears as she breathlessly awaits the entrance of our new District escort, Lyndale Whitewater. He's new this year, since our former escort, Trenton Newvale, was killed during the attack on the Capitol. Fortunately, he was the only District escort who died.

The doors of the Justice Building lead straight out onto the makeshift stage that is only set up twice a year, once for the Reaping and another time for the Victory Tour. If Avalon had won the 70th Games, she would have had a Victory Tour, instead of that conniving little bitch from District 4. She snuck up on Avalon while she was sleeping and stabbed her in the neck, letting her bleed out. Caleb was sixteen and I was twelve. Needless to say, we taught ourselves to sleep lightly after that.

I'm so busy thinking about Avalon that I completely miss Lyndale bounding out onto the stage.

"Love and kisses, everyone!" He shrieks into the microphone with lips painted a garish red. They look almost bloody, I muse, as Amalia starts to giggle quietly. Esther shoots her a stern look, and I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep myself from laughing out loud. I'm going to miss my friends while I'm in the Games.

Despite his freakish appearance (his hair is dyed pink and orange, and his face is encrusted with jewels), Lyndale proves to be a competent escort, managing to keep the assembled crowd from zoning out completely during the mandatory viewing of the film about the Dark Days by poking light-hearted jibes at the rebels. During the second film, the one about the Mockingjay Rebellion, he has the crowd in stitches as he points out the flaws of the other Districts, even District 2.

Because we know have to watch two films instead of one, the first part of the ceremony takes an hour. Finally, it's time to draw the names out of the Reaping bowl. I'm not worried that my name won't get picked; if it isn't, I'll just volunteer. In District 2, they have a barbaric competition where the first person to reach the stage gets to volunteer, but here in District 1, only two people are allowed to volunteer: the boy and girl selected as the head of their class in the Training Center. If you volunteer without being selected as the head of your class first, your siblings, and someday your children, will be barred from participating in the Hunger Games for life. Nobody here wants to risk that kind of punishment.

Lyndale practically has to prance over to the large glass bowl that has the name of all the twelve- to eighteen-year-old girls in District 1 on small slips of paper inside. With surprisingly little fanfare or commentary, he shouts "Alodie LaFrencia!"

Naturally, Alodie, whoever she is, doesn't even bother trying to head up to the stage. She's right not to do so, of course, because as soon as the name has passed Lyndale's garish lips, I yell "I VOLUNTEER!" at the top of my voice. No one protests. I've been at the head of my class at the Training Center since last year. My family is frowning, not at all happy that I didn't back out at the last second, but my friends are grinning and cheering wildly.

Except for Lance. He looks perturbed, his brow furrowed, his arms crossed over his chest. In fact, with the way he's standing, he looks very similar to Caleb right now, except Caleb has more of a tan and hair that's more bronze than blond.

No matter. I finally get to avenge Avalon.

I quickly and confidently walk up to the stage, smile brightly, and introduce myself to Lyndale before he can even ask who I am.

"I'm Larissa Belmont." I say proudly into the microphone. I pause before adding, "I'm eighteen years old."

Lyndale smiles widely, showing unnaturally white teeth, even by District 1's standards. "Now aren't you all simply thrilled to meet this young lady, folks? I love to see a spirit of volunteerism in Panem's young people! Now, let's move on to choosing the gentleman that will representing District 1 this year, shall we?"

By the shouts of eager jubilation that emit from the crowd, I'm guessing the answer is yes.

Lyndale trots over to the boys' bowl and sticks his hand inside, grabbing the paper closest to the top.

"This year's male tribute is…Sherman Sako!"

Again, the person Reaped doesn't even bother walking towards the stage. The sixteen-year-old section, though, parts to make way for a large boy with close-cut brown hair and alabaster skin. He doesn't even bother mounting the steps to the stage; instead, he puts one hand on the stage and uses it as leverage to vault onto the stage, landing right next to Lyndale.

"Well, who do we have here?" Lyndale beams, holding out the microphone to the boy.

"I'm Abel Edwards. I'm sixteen." The boy says in a strong, confident voice.

"Ah, we have a youngster here, ladies and gentlemen." Lydnale winks at the crowd as if we're all in on some huge joke together.

Abel grins at this recognition of his talents. He should be proud. Sixteen is the youngest you can be at District 1's Training Center and still get chose as a tribute for the Games.

"Alright, Abel and Larissa!" Lyndale booms. "Time to shake hands!"

As we turn and face each other, I notice a devilish glint in his eyes, which are more or less the same color as his hair. He has a firm handshake, but his grip isn't painful. I know that two tributes can win these Games, so I should see him as an ally, but the hint of evil in the grin just rubs me the wrong way.

Despite this, I feel pretty good about this entire situation, even though my death could be a week away. Dropping Abel's hand, I stare into his eyes, smile slightly, and think _let the Games begin_.


	4. Deadly Foes and Unspeakable Woes: D2

**Hello, everyone. It's me again. I'm sorry it's been a while, especially with Larissa's chapter off to such a promising start. Due to school, clubs, and an internship, plus a couple other unanticipated time commitments, I will now be updating every other Tuesday. I feel pretty bad about being slow, but I also need to give attention to other areas of my life. Thank you in advance for your understanding, and also thank you to everyone who submitted a tribute. Your characters WILL get their stories told.**

 **Now, without further ado, here's Dan.**

 _Dan Noxis, District 2, Age 17_

I've been up since dawn, hacking away at the training dummies with my sword. I think I might be just as crazy as Cato, that beast of a boy from the last Games.

 _And he didn't even have family that died in a civil war_ , I think to myself as I ram a sword through another dummy's chest, right in the area where a heart would be on a real person. If I was as talented as I want to be, I would be able to skewer every dummy with a spear from a hundred yards, in exactly the area I wanted. Sadly, that's not the case. The rebellion stole a lot from me, but it hasn't given me any new talents, or contributed to any skills I already had before the Mockingjay and her Lover Boy set Panem on fire.

I yank the sword out of the dummy and toss it into the air, catching it in my left hand. Like most of the students at the Training Academy, I'm not as good with my left hand, despite the trainers' efforts to make us all ambidextrous.

I whirl around and lop off the head of another dummy. _One for my father._ He died in the quarries before I was born, and my mother would never tell me anything about him.

I'm a bit gentler with the next dummy, only slicing open its neck, so the stuffing that it's packed with spills out of its throat. _One for Mom_. She was a Peacekeeper, killed in the crossfire during the initial stages of the rebellion.

I take two steps to my right, crouch, and stab the closest dummy, which is facing away from me, in the back. I leap to my feet and cut another dummy in half without even looking at it. _One for Juniper. One for Carolina._ My cousins lived with us after their parents died when they were four. They were like sisters to me. They day I found out they were killed in the final assault on the Nut was the worst day of my life.

I'm most vicious with the last dummy, impaling it through the stomach, then lifting it into the air before slamming it down so hard it flies off my sword, landing on the other side of the room. I stride over to it, lift my sword in the air, and hack off its head. _One for Jonas._ Lyme told me she personally witnessed my older brother's death during a skirmish. The only reason I wasn't there at the time was because of the gaping wound in my side, which I received when I was trying to force my way into the Nut. Out of all the soldiers in Lyme's squadron, I came to closest to entering the Nut that day.

I'm fairly certain I'm the only one that's still alive.

"Ready for the Reaping?" The voice is coming from the left, from the doorway of the room I'm in. I look to my left and see Styx, one of the Assistant Trainers at the Training Academy. Even though she never entered the Hunger Games, coming in second in her class, she's one of the most lethal instructors in the Academy.

"Hardly." I say. I go and hang my sword up in its assigned place. If I were to somehow end up in the Games, I wouldn't need it anyways. I'm not planning on volunteering.

But then again, I'm fairly certain my life isn't worth living anyways, so who cares?

I follow Styx through the labyrinthine halls of the Academy, and then through the winding streets until we reach the square where the Reaping is held. Even though Panem has just been through a rebellion, the Reaping is still fairly run-of-mill. Heather Hewett, our escort, waltzes onto the stage and breezes through the customary niceties. Then, it's time to draw the name of the girl who will be Reaped.

The girl whose name is drawn is tiny and looks like she can't be more than thirteen. She slowly begins to make her way to the stage, but stops after a few seconds. I hear a commotion in the eighteen-year-old section, and a girl bursts out of the section, running for the stage for all she's worth. A couple other girls are close behind, but the girl quickly outdistances them. In seconds, she's standing on the stage grinning, looking as though she hasn't even broken a sweat getting there, and announcing to all of Panem that her name is Winter Shale-Hadley. But that's not what gets my attention.

My heart feels like someone has ripped it out of my chest after burying a sword in it. With her platinum blonde hair, pale freckled skin, icy blue eyes, and spunky attitude, she could be either Juniper or Carolina, brought back from the dead. I move so quickly I don't even realize what I've done until afterwards. By the time I actually process what I'm doing, I'm on the stage next to Heather, yelling "I volunteer!" Somehow, my lip has been split open and I can feel the skin around my left eye beginning to tighten and swell, even though I don't remember getting hit.

Heather looks taken aback, and I realize that I jumped on stage before she even had a chance to unfold the piece of paper with the name of the male tribute on it.

"Well, that's that then, I guess." She shrugs. "What's your name, dear?" She says to me.

"Dan Noxis." I say into the microphone.

Heather lifts our hands into the air, as though we've already won, and cries, "Long Live District 2! Long Live Panem! Long Live President Collins!"

I steal a glance at the girl. I still can't believe the resemblance to Juniper and Carolina.

I feel a smile begin to curl my lips. Two of us can come home this year. Winter and I will both be Victors.

If not, I get to see my family again. I've already won the Games.


	5. Everybody Wants to Rule the World

_Maia Reese, District 6, Age 15_

"Maia!"

I sigh and turn away from my mother's voice, burrowing deeper into my bed, and pull the covers over my head. I don't want to get up. It's Reaping Day.

"Maia, come downstairs now! Your food is getting cold!" My mother calls again, a note of urgency in her voice this time. I hear dishes clattering from below.

Omigosh, she's moving things again! I leap to my feet and fly downstairs in two seconds flat.

As soon as I get to the kitchen, I yank the pot of gruel my mother is holding out of her hands. Before the rebellion, I wasn't this protective, but after Mom lost the use of her left arm when she was hit by shrapnel, I worry constantly about her doing even simple things.

"Maia, Maia, I'm fine. Sit down and eat." My mother gently scolds me. I set the pot down on our small kitchen table. We used to have a larger one, before Dad and Cooper died, but now we have a table that barely seats three.

By the time I'm finished getting the silverware and setting the table, Mom has disappeared into my little sister Jessica's room, which is directly off of the kitchen. She returns with Jessica, who is two years old. Like me, she has brown hair and brown eyes, but her hair is curly in her eyes are dark.

"Miwa!" she cries when she sees me, holding her arms out for a hug. I snatch her from my mother, worried Jessica's weight will be too much for her, even though Mom isn't using her lame arm.

"Maia, you worry too much." Mom rolls her eyes and ruffle my hair.

We eat our breakfast-blackberries from the bushes that grow behind our house poured over porridge-and get ready for the Reaping. I'm wearing a simple green dress, and I leave my shoulder-length hair down, as usual. The walk to the Square is silent; Mom's face is tight with worry and Jessica is too busy cradling her kitten, Vine, to pay much attention to me. Even though I'm the one holding Jessica, I'm lost in my own thoughts, thinking about when my brother Cooper was Reaped for the 73rd Games. Just before he got to the stage, my father grabbed a Peacekeeper by the neck and started to choke him. By the time Cooper made it to the stage, my father had been shot.

I push the thought of my father lying dead in his own blood as we reach the square. I hand Jessica back to Mom and go to the table go get registered. I'm so preoccupied with my own thoughts that I don't notice the prick when the Peacekeeper at the table takes my blood.

"Maia!" The voice is one I recognize, and the call is coming from the fifteen-year-old section. I scan the crowd and find Ria Baker, my best friend since I started school. When we were younger, our families lived next to each other, but then her mother got a job at the school teaching, and Ria and her family moved to the apartment building that most of the school teachers and their families live in.

Ria and I have a couple minutes to talk, to pretend everything is normal, before Winera Bradley, the District 6 escort, takes the stage. Because I've heard the Capitol propaganda so many times before, it's easy to shut her out. The only time Ria and I stop whispering to each other and pay attention is when Winera explains why the Games are being altered after the most recent rebellion. Something about the rebels' valor, and blah, blah, blah. I make a wry face at Ria and she laughs silently.

All too soon, it's time to draw the name out of the large glass ball that has the names of every girl in District 6. I cross my fingers behind my back and hope for the best. _Please not me,_ I pray, _please not me_.

"Maia Reese!"

 _Omigod, omigod, omigod_. For a moment I'm frozen, stunned, unable to do anything. Then I feel a hand grab my arm, and turn to see Ria, tears streaming down her face.

"Don't go Maia. Please." She begs.

I start to turn away so I can head to the stage, but then I see Ria take a deep breath, and I know what she's about to do. All of Ria's siblings died in the Rebellion last year, so she's going to volunteer.

Except, I don't let her. I move so quickly that I surprise myself. My left hand curls into a fist, and I swing around and punch her in the gut as hard as I can. Then I shove her away and run up to the stage.

"Excellent!" Winera trills. "It's been years, simply years, since we had someone so eager to be in the Games that she ran onstage to volunteer! Is there anything you would like to say?"

"I'm coming home." I say into the microphone she offers me.

Winera beams and pats my head, like I'm a puppy dog who has just completed a particularly impressive trick. I grit my teeth and make sure I'm not looking at the area where my mother is standing. I know she's not going to try and do anything rash if she's holding a toddler. In fact, she's probably still in shock, rooted to the ground.

Fortunately, keeping my eyes off my mother is easy to do, because Winera is eager to draw the name of the next tribute. Since the worst has already happened, I don't really care whose name is called.

That's what I think anyways.

"Adler Genn!" Winera calls.

I stifle a gasp, but manage to compose myself. Oh no! This can't be. _This cannot be happening._

I'm going into the Games with _him_. The boy who has tormented Ria and I since we started school.

I'm entering the Hunger Games with my worst enemy.


	6. Chapter 6: Fight Fire with Fire (D7M)

**Hi Everyone! I have some great news: I will now be posting once a week instead of every two weeks, so you can look for a new chapter next Tuesday, on November 1** **st** **. Also, trigger warning: the following chapter contains some police fatality, though not brutal. Heeeere's Rufus! Enjoy!**

 _Rufus Ash, District 7, Age 18_

 _Dammit._ The Peacekeepers are chasing me, again.

One of them is that fat old man, Reika Snow, a distant cousin to the former president. Normally, I'd take my time if I was running away only from him, making sure to make plenty of exaggerated motions and rude faces just so he would know that I can get away from him whenever I want. Today though, that's not the case. I'm being chased not only by Reika, but also by Scrimm siblings, Veriche and Claire. Veriche, who's a little older than his sister, replaced Reika as the Head Peacekeeper after the rebellion, and he made it clear right away that he expects nothing but _absolute obedience_. Which is why I absolutely had to throw a rotten tomato at him just a few minutes ago. I don't know if he was more upset about being hit with a rotten piece of fruit, or the waste of a piece of food that is considered a delicacy in District 7. Either way, Veriche and his cronies are now hot on my trail, and, to make matters worse, I know they recognize me. I suppose having a missing hand doesn't help, but still, you'd think I could catch a break.

"Claire! Cut him off at the corner!" Veriche yells. If I weren't running I would laugh. Dude seriously thinks he can catch me if he's yelling directions like that? Doesn't he know that I've grown up expecting this kind of crap-

Oh, _shit_.

Claire Scrimm is apparently faster than I thought, because she's streaking towards the street corner I'm heading towards, and by the looks of it, she's going to get there a lot faster than I can. No, wait, she's heading towards _me_.

Thinking quickly, I dodge to the right. I feel her brush past me, in what would have been a full-out tackle if I wouldn't have changed direction. She lands hard on the concrete, but does a shoulder roll and is back on her feet in two seconds flat.

Wonderful. Now we only have about five feet between us.

I round the corner hard, desperate to put more distance between us. I've been close to getting caught before, but never this close. Well, except for the time I was caught dealing drugs and had my right hand cut off.

The hand that grabs my shoulder nearly jerks me off my feet. Without stopping to think about it, I swing my elbow back as hard as I can. I can tell by the muffled yelp of pain that I've hit Claire in the nose, and it's probably broken.

I put on more speed after that, flying through the streets of District 7's capitol and taking every alley and shortcut that I know. Eventually, the yells behind me fade, and I feel safe enough to slow down into a steady jog. I know I'm not out of the woods yet, so to speak, but at least I have enough distance to consider myself safe for the moment.

After checking over my shoulder a few more times to be doubly sure that no one's following me, I abruptly change direction and head towards The Collapsings, a group of abandoned, deteriorating apartment buildings. Besides having the distinction of being my home, they also have the distinction of being the residence of District 7's small but ever-unfortunate homeless population. Most of us are either disfigured, whether from a missing limb or a horrible disease. In a District that prides itself on being physically fit, we're pariahs.

I think about stopping in the Yard, a bleak piece of ground in the center of the complex that is flanked on all sides by rotting buildings, but I decide against it. I don't really want to talk to any of my fellow down-and-outs before the Reaping.

I spend the next hour or so in the stream that runs through the forest a couple miles away from The Collapsings, sprucing myself up before the Reaping. I'm never going to look good, but I can at least be hygienic.

By the time I head back to The Collapsings, it's almost time for the Reapings. Even so, I'm careful to wait until it's almost time for the Reaping before I head to the square. I wouldn't want to look too obedient. Not to mention I might get arrested if Veriche or Reika spot me before the Reaping Ceremony starts.

Once I start towards the square, I move briskly, stopping only to swipe some liquor from the stall of an inattentive vendor. I'll need it later to celebrate escaping my last Reaping. I don't truly believe I'll be chosen. I don't take out tesserae, because you need a permanent address to do that, so my name is only in the Reaping Bowl seven times. I think I'm destined to live on the streets for the rest of my life.

When I get to the square, the music that signals the beginning of the Reaping Ceremony is just starting. For some reason, District 7's Reaping Ceremony is more formal than any other District's, or so I've heard. We have three hours of stupid freaking ceremony to sit through: two hours of the mayor and assorted other important people narrating the happenings of the past Hunger Games, and another hour of blathering from Lavonda Fence, our district escort.

By the time the actual Reaping part of the ceremony arrives, I'm nearly asleep. Being a street kid, I have an innate ability to fall asleep on my feet. It's served me well during past Reapings.

I barely pay attention to the girl who's Reaped. She's a little sprout who can't be more than fourteen or fifteen years old, and I think she's actually crying as she makes her way up to the stage. I don't really care.

I let my eyelids flutter closed and prepare to take a short nap while the boy's name is being called. Soon enough, this will be done and I can head back to the Collapsings and get sloshed. Things don't pan out that way, though.

"Rufus Ash!"

Oh fuck no. These assholes already got my right hand. They are not getting the rest of my life!

Well, apparently they are. I see the crowd being parted by a Peacekeeper, a large man that must be new, since I've never met him before. He appears to be heading straight towards me.

I know I'm never going to be able to outwrestle him, and that no one has ever been able to escape after being Reaped, but I have a different plan in mind. I wait until he's arm's length away from me, and then I haul off and punch him as hard as I can with my left hand. While he's reeling back, I sprint to the stage, and mount it. Lavonda starts towards me, a huge grin on her face, which is covered in purple glitter. I wait until she's a foot away, then spit on her face.

Lavonda looks surprised after I spit at her, but she makes no move to wipe the spittle off her cheek. Idiot. I have a moment of smug satisfaction before I feel metal cuffs snap around my wrists. I've been cuffed before, and I know that they're unbreakable and practically impossible to get out of, but I struggle anyways. What's the point of living if you're not even going to put up a fight?

Whoever cuffed me grabs my hair and uses it to yank my head back. I feel hot breath on the side of my face, and then Veriche whispers, "Bet you wish you wouldn't have thrown that rotten tomato at me, huh? Oh wait, you were trying to be defiant. Look where that got you."

"Brush your teeth." I retort.

Veriche shoves me away from him, towards the edge of the stage. A large, beefy hand wraps itself around my ankle, and I'm looking down into the face of the large Peacekeeper. Suddenly I'm being yanked off the stage. I hit the ground so hard that it takes me a while to recover my breath, by which point Veriche has leapt off the stage and is kicking me in the ribs. When I can finally draw a breath, I make an attempt to sit up, which is stopped by a boot on my chest.

The large Peacekeeper grins down at me. "You thought it was a good idea to break my cousin's nose? Think again."

Great. He's related to the Scrimms. I'm about to deliver a stream of curses that would burn anyone's eardrums when the Peacekeeper produces a small black object and presses it into my shoulder. I feel a brief burning sensation, then nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys, I'm sorry about the lateness of this update. I will be updating on Wednesdays from now on.**

 _Xavier Bunting, District 8, Age 13_

It seems like it's only been days since the last Reaping, even though an entire rebellion has happened between then and now. My family and I are standing in the Square, which is technically just a large but abandoned factory building. Some people claim the air in here is stuffy, but I don't mind; at least it keeps the rain off if there's a storm during the Reaping. I can remember at least three where there was rain.

My family and I are standing at the edge of the area of the Square that's been partitioned off for twelve- to eighteen-year-olds. I'm trying to comfort my twelve-year-old sister, Violet.

"Violet, there's no way you're going to get picked!" I give her a hug, and she buries her tear-streaked face in my shoulder. "How do you know?" she asks tearfully, her voice muffled.

"Your name's only in there once. There's virtually no chance of getting picked." I've taken tesserae this year, but my parents and I both agreed that Violet and my two other younger siblings, Preston and Phoebe, would never have to risk being picked in exchange for extra food.

My mother comes over and rubs Violet's back. My father is standing a few feet away with Preston and Phoebe, who are only seven. Normally, they're noisy, full of energy, and dying to try anything Violet and I are doing, but today they're silent and still. Violet lifts her head and wails, "But Primrose Everdeen was only in the Reaping Bowl once too! And look what happened to her!"

" _Be quiet, Violet!_ " My mother hisses. Her voice is much harsher than she must intend it to be, so after a quick glance around to make sure no one has heard, she says softly, "Violet, you can never say her name or her sister's name in public again, do you understand?"

Violet nods, tears still running down her face. Her lower lip is quivering, and she looks like she's about to burst into tears again. I take her hand. "Why don't we walk over to the twelve-year-old section together?" I ask. "I'll say goodbye to you there, and then I'll come find you after the Reaping." Violet nods and agreement, and we head off together. I'm careful not to acknowledge my parents or the twins as we leave. I don't want Violet bursting into fresh tears from a last-minute goodbye.

None of the girls in the twelve-year-old section acknowledge me or Violet as we arrive. Even though I'm only a year older than most of them, I don't know them at all. I never really had the chance to make close friends my age because I was always watching my siblings while my parents were at work. Violet, who had almost as much responsibility as I did, is shyer than I am, and quiet to begin with. I leave quickly, before she can get too upset, and take my place in the thirteen-year-old section.

We end up waiting a few minutes before our district escort, Vanessa Wilkins, strides on to the stage. I know we're not supposed to like escorts, but it's hard not to like Vanessa. Out of all the district escorts, she's the oldest at sixty-four years old, a fact everyone knows because she tells us how old she is every year. One time, she even sang a birthday song for herself instead of forcing us to watch the Capitol's video about the rebellion. She's also one of the most down-to-earth and practical of the escorts, always encouraging the tributes when they come up to the stage and dressing in fairly respectable clothes for a Capitolite. For example, today she is wearing a black one-piece suit with a shimmering blue belt, high-heeled blue boots, and fingerless gloves, also blue. Besides having several streaks of blue in her spiky gray hair, she looks like a normal person.

"Greetings, ladies and gentleman." She says into the microphone. "I'm thrilled to see you all again. I know we've all been through some hard times since we last met, but I'm glad so many of you look healthy." She winks at us like an old friend. "With that being said, I have some great news to share." Great news? What could possibly be great about Reaping Day? Maybe she's going to sing a song instead of making us watch the propaganda videos.

"Now as you all know, our wonderful president Tatiana Collins has announced that, in addition to there being one more victor every year, there will also be one less tribute." She takes a few steps until she's standing at the edge of the stage. "The great news I would like to share with you is this: last week there was a drawing held at the Capitol to determine which district would not have to send in two tributes this year. District 8 was the one that was picked."

I can hear a gasp of surprise running through the crowd, one that is quickly followed by whooping and shouts of exaltation. Vanessa holds up a hand to calm the crowd, which mostly works. "Of course, there was still a question as to whether you would be sending in a male or female tribute. Another drawing was held. Half the slips in the Reaping Bowl said _boy_ , and the other half said _girl_. A slip that said _girl_ on it was picked, meaning that District 8 will only have to send a male tribute this year!"

I sigh in relief. Violet is safe for another year at least, so now I only have myself and my best friend Tristan to worry about. I'm about to relax when Vanessa pulls a slip from the male Reaping Bowl. With no fanfare whatsoever, she calls out, "Xavier Bunting!"

What? I feel the blood draining from my face, but I sternly remind myself that I can't fall apart here. All of Panem will be watching me after I mount the stage, which means I need to pull myself together. I take a deep breath to step myself, and march towards the stage. I try to control my shaking, and fail miserably. Instead, I settle for clenching my hands in fists at my sides so my terror won't be as obvious.

Vanessa smiles and holds out her hand to me. "It's so nice to meet you, Xavier." She says warmly, and I can tell she means it.

Somehow, the gentle pressure of her hand helps me swallow back the tears that have been threatening to spill over since my name was called. I clench my jaw and turn towards the crowd. This morning, I was just another kid in District 8. Now, I'm a tribute in the Hunger Games.

I have to stay strong.


	8. Chapter 8: Hope and Hellfire (D9M)

**Hi Everyone.**

 **Before we get to the story, I would just like to apologize for the incredibly short length of each of these chapters. I really do want to explore each character more, but I am currently balancing a number of things in my life right now (All good things, don't worry!** **) With that being said, everyone will get a POV, and we'll have plenty of time to get to know the characters on train rides, during training, and through interviews before they start to kill each other. ;) If there are things you do or don't like, please let me know via review or PM. Now, back to the story before I take up any more room with my rambling. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Bernard Hancock!**

 _Bernard Hancock, District 9, Age 15_

Today is probably the worst day of my life. That's probably because my life is not going to last much longer. You usually don't last long if you get Reaped for the Hunger Games. Especially if you're from District 9.

There's one thing to be glad about, though. At least my older brother Marshall, didn't have time to volunteer for me. I was so shocked at first, I couldn't even move, but then I saw movement from Marshall's area of the eighteen-year-old section, and realized I had to act quickly. Now, don't get me wrong, Marshall and I aren't exactly buds, but I sure as heck don't want him to die in some god-forsaken arena in a far-away place, and I definitely don't want him taking over this challenge that's been forced onto me. For years, I've watched my three older siblings-two brothers and one sister-be the level-headed ones, the mature ones, the ones that make my parents proud. Now, I'm one my own, and even if I die, I'll go out fighting, trying to overcome the biggest challenge anyone in Panem has ever faced.

This is actually starting to sound somewhat appealing.

I belatedly realize that for the past five or so minutes, I've been talking the ear off of our district escort, Melinda Hammer, ever since she called me up to the stage and asked me my name. She's a tall, fit woman in her late twenties or early thirties, and the most attractive escort of all, at least in my opinion.

"And lastly, I would just like to say that you're the most attractive district escort ever, Melinda. As in, like, _ever_."

She brushes a tendril of blond hair back behind one ear, lets out a little giggle, and says, "Why, thank you, Bernard. As everyone in District 9 knows, I do love a compliment, especially from a handsome young man like yourself. However, everyone is simply dying to know who our female tribute will be." She gingerly takes a step back and eases the microphone out of my hand. Funny, I don't even remember grabbing it in the first place.

She trots back over to the bowl and pulls out the name of the female tribute, but doesn't read it off right away, instead talking about how wonderful it is that a cultural icon like the Hunger Games was reinstated, and how she can't wait to see who this year's female contestant will be. Finally she unfolds the paper, and trills, "The lucky female participant in this year's Games will be-"

But by that point, I'm not even listening. Instead, I'm lost in a daydream about the glory and honor that is to come.


	9. Chapter 9: Image and Identity (D10)

**Okay, so first off I would like to apologize for changing the update times for this story on a regular basis, and then not posting for a really, really long time. Basically, I got hit with a lot of assignments at once, not to mention a lot of other things that needed to get done, so this needed to take a backseat. I do intend to keep updating regularly, but for now I'm not going to give a specific day or timeframe in which this will be updated. It's driving me nuts not to be consistent, but I'm sure it's more difficult for anyone who's checking this on a day I said I would update, only to find nothing. Probably no one is checking this, since we all have lives, but I don't like to feel like I'm disappointing people.**

 **Anyways, end of egotistical and self-centered apology/rant. Meet Grace, and our other District 10 tribute!**

 _Grace Dazel, District 10, Age 16_

"Grace! Grace, let's go!"

I sigh and ease myself out of the tree I've been in all morning with my cats, Daisy and Tuxedo. My twin sister Madison is standing below the tree, her hands on her hips. She isn't a bossy person, but with me she can sometimes take that tone. It's easy to believe that people who have strange qualities need direction.

I land softly on my feet, right behind her. "Grace!" she continues to call, still looking up into the tree. I stifle a giggle, lean towards her, and say very softly into her ear, "Boo."

"GRACE!" Madison yells as she jumps out of her skin. "You scared the living daylights out of me! What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _you_?" I say in return, not trying terribly hard to avoid the argument that I know is brewing.

Madison huffs in annoyance and crosses her arms. "Honestly Grace, you could at least try to be a little bit more mature. You're sixteen, after all."

I smile at her, letting my grin slowly widen until it takes over my entire face. "But then I wouldn't be Grace. And then you wouldn't love me as much!"

Madison rolls her eyes at the trick I have been using for years to get out of trouble with her when she's angry. "Whatever. Could we just please try and be on time to the Reaping this year?" Last year, the Peacekeepers in our district came to get us because we were late. They weren't harsh or mean, or anything like that, but they did make it clear that lateness is not a quality they appreciate in District 10's citizens.

"I know we'll get to the square on time." I tell her. "Are Mom and Dad there already?"

"They left a long time ago." Madison tells me as we set off down the path that leads off our property and onto the main road that runs through all of District 10. The dust is already forming a thin coating on our legs and bare feet, and the sun is beating down on us, making everything shimmer.

For us, the walk to the square is relatively short. I know some people have to walk almost an hour to get to District 10's center, but our large farm is close to the square to being with, and I was already on the edge of our property when Grace found me. When we get closer to the Square, I can see our parents, huddled with the rest of the crowd. They walked us to the Reapings our first year, but after that, they always made a point of being here before us to avoid the terrible walk here and the dreadful goodbyes right before the Reaping Ceremony starts.

Madison and I give them a small wave as we head off to our respective sections. I know it's terrible, but I feel a sense of relief as she leaves me to go stand with her friends. Don't get me wrong, I love Madison more than I love anyone else in the world, it's just that we're so….different. She makes friends easily, always has at least a couple of adoring boys around her because the entire male species apparently loves her quiet and accepting demeanor, and she's always been considered the talented one in the family. The entire school, and I mean the entire school, fawns over it. Maybe if I wasn't with Madison all the time, I wouldn't feel so empty, I think as our escort, Trivia Walton, walks onto stage and starts the videos chronicling the first and second rebellions. For an escort, she's pretty taciturn, which makes a lot of people in District 10 wonder how she even got the job in the first place. As the videos play, my mind wanders. I wonder if anyone will ever notice me with Madison always being there. I immediately feel guilty. I would feel terrible if she got reaped. I wouldn't feel terrible if one of the boys who follows her around or one of the annoying giggly girls she hangs out with got picked. Sometimes, I feel like the only people besides Madison I can care about aren't people: they're cats.

I sigh in impatience as the video ends and Trivia again takes the stage. Although she doesn't say much, she does have a commanding presence, and it's hard not to pay attention to her when she speaks.

"Ladies and gentlemen of District 10, our female tribute for this year's Games will be Emmy Goff!" A small twelve-year-old girl whom I recognize from school slowly begins to make her way towards the stage, looking dazed. At first, I feel a wave of pity for her, as everyone probably does. But then I feel a hot rush of-I don't know. Anger? Defiance? Determination? The next thing I know, I'm shoving my way through the crowd and calling out, "I volunteer!"

I don't fully realize what I've done until I'm standing up on the stage. Then, I feel a moment of horror when I see the devastation on Madison's face. That's when I realize why I volunteered: so I can stop living in Madison's shadow. For once, I will be doing something completely by myself. This is my challenge, my problem I have to overcome, and the other tributes won't even need to know I have a twin. I lift my head up so I'm looking over the crowd, and smile in what I hope is a convincing manner. I can hear a few people going beserk on the outskirts; I think I can hear my mother's voice, pleading for me to come down from the stage. The only person in the crowd that I make direct eye contact with is Madison, who somehow manages to scrounge up a small smile in return.

I take a deep breath and continue my façade of being entirely unconcerned as Trivia makes a few perfunctory remarks on how surprising it is to have a volunteer from 10, since we haven't had one in over a decade. I'm thinking to myself how surprising it is that we've ever had a volunteer when Trivia calls the name of the other tribute. "And our male tribute is…Larry Sing!"

A younger boy who is a little on the smallish size mounts the stage and looks around him, eyes wide in fright. However, he quickly realizes how much scrutiny he is under at the moment and plasters a grin on his face, even though anyone who's looking can still see the terror in his eyes. Trivia tells us to face each other and shake hands, and I give him a sympathetic glance. It's the first time we've made eye contact, and as I look at him, I can see not only fear in his eyes, but determination as well. Some tributes break down as soon as they reach the stage, and stay in a semi-functional state until their death in the Games. Although I can't tell for sure, there's a good chance that, whatever happens, Larry Sing and I are in this together.

Now we just have to hope that we can make it back out.

 **P.S. I'm very torn on whether to write the goodbye scenes or not. There is a poll up on my profile asking if I should bother writing them. If you care about where the story goes next, please either take the poll, or let me know by PM. If I skip them, there will probably be another chapter about Titania and her Capitolite buddies, and then I'll go straight to train rides. If not, I'll do the same thing, but with the goodbye scenes first. Oh, and also, THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed so far! You guys are amazing and awesome and wonderful. I don't deserve the attention you've been giving me, but still, I'm flattered.**


	10. Just One Moment: Coyote Black, D11

**TRIGGER WARNING: CHILD ABUSE**

 **Sorry it took so long to get the next chapter up. I have a long list of excuses, but we all know it's the holidays and people are busy. As I said in the A/N for my last chapter, I'm not going to give a specific date or time frame as to when I update anymore, as I'm not consistent with it anyways. Hopefully, I'll be able to update every two weeks, give or take a few days.**

 **Also, there are a couple new things on my profile. First, I've reopened the SYOT submission for the male from District 12/13. If you would like to submit, please send me a character profile within the next couple weeks. Second, the poll of whether you would like me to write the goodbye scenes is still up, so please put your two cents in.**

 **Last but not least, thank you to everyone who's reading and reviewing! Have a Happy New Year's! :D**

 _Left, right. Left, right._ Only two hundred more steps to our destination, then I'll be free of Mr. Fringe and Ms. Dayton forever.

I wince as one of my fellow orphans bumps into me, accidentally brushing my back. The welts from the last whipping Fringe gave me are still fresh.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" I snap at her. She backs away, looking worried and eyeing Dayton, who's known throughout the orphanage for being able to give a nasty bruise.

Dayton hasn't noticed though, because she's too busy trying to corral the three-year-old Freemont twins, the youngest inhabitants of the orphanage. I look away as she smacks one of them, the girl, I think. I hear the girl whimper, and the boy say something in protest. I hear another smack after that, and then both the twins start crying.

I clench my fists and press forward. What I'm about to do today won't help any of the other orphans, but it will ensure that I'm free forever. That in and of itself won't help anyone much, but hopefully the other orphans will have more to eat.

I shake my head at my brief foray into idealism. I can't afford to be unrealistic today of all days. Reaping Day is not a time for thinking about happy endings. My courage wavers a bit when we enter the square, and I see all the crying children clinging to their parents, or standing by themselves and pretending to be stoic. As usual, a wail goes up for the orphans, especially the younger ones. Though it doesn't happen anymore, some of the older orphans remember a few Games back in the Sixties where two orphans seemed to get chosen every year. Everyone was pretty sure the Reapings where rigged during those years, but no one really did anything about it. Now that Archibald Donovan is the mayor, those "coincidences" have stopped, but everyone in District 11's pathetic excuse for an orphanage is still terrified of the Reapings. Of course, the rest of the population isn't much better. They hate Reaping Day just as much as we do.

As they do every year, Ms. Dayton and Mr. Fringe begin their Reaping Day routine. Ms. Dayton stays with the younger orphans, and Mr. Fringe begins the process of dropping off the Reaping-age orphans in their respective sections. He's been doing this for as long as I can remember, probably because after the debacle in the Sixties, it's not unheard of for an orphan to try and sneak away from the Reaping, which can cause a lot of trouble for the orphanage. Our first stop is the twelve-year-old section, where we have to drop off about half a dozen children, including the girl who bumped into me before. My section, the thirteen-year-olds, is next. I only have two other kids with me this year, cousins named Afton and Friday. They're new to the orphanage this year, their parents not having survived the Mockingjay Rebellion. I've heard rumors that both of their parents were major rebel leaders in District 11. If that's the case, one of them may be picked for the Games. I'll have to move fast, then.

To distract myself from the nervousness that is forming a ball in my stomach, I start a conversation with Friday, who's closest.

"Any idea what you're going to do to celebrate not being Reaped?" I ask.

He looks at me in surprise. "Sometimes certain businesses will give out free things to the orphans after the Reaping, especially if the owners are happy because they have Reaping-age children who weren't picked." I add.

Friday continues to stare at me in surprise, so Afton ends up being the one who answers. "What is there to celebrate? The Hunger Games is still on." His tone is bitter.

I raise an eyebrow in surprise. He is definitely going to get picked with an attitude like that.

"Male tributes!" A slurred voice suddenly yells, and just like that, our District escort, Felicia Davis, staggers onstage. She reminds me of Haymitch Abernathy, the Mockingjay's mentor. He didn't survive the Mockingjay War, being a rebel and all, but if you multiplied his obnoxious intoxication by ten and divided his usefulness by seven, that would be about the sum of Felicia's personality. I think she's a morphling addict in addition to being an alcoholic, but no one knows for sure because none of her sentences that are more than three words long ever make sense.

She staggers over to the bowl, not bothering to make an introductory comments or go through the videos about the rebellions with us. "What a shame." Afton mutters. "We won't get to see any Capitol propaganda."

Friday shoots him a look, and I struggle to stifle a laugh. For being my own personal Doomsday, today is sure turning out to be entertaining.

I don't have much time to enjoy myself, unfortunately, because Felicia grabs a slip of paper from the Reaping bowl and calls out "Friday Harvester!" I don't wait long enough to see his and Afton's reactions before I yell, "I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

I glance around as I make my way up to the stage, and sure enough, everyone but Felicia looks stunned. "Hi there!" She squeals, waving at me even though we're only about two feet apart. As usual, her red hair looks uncombed, and her red lipstick is about three shades too bright for her unnaturally pale face.

"Hey." I respond, raising my hand in a casual wave.

She lunges forward and shoves the microphone into my face. "What are you doing?"

Right. She must be asking why I volunteered. Now is my big moment. "I'm volunteering because I'm slowly starving to death." I announce into the microphone. I hear gasps from the crowd, not because they're surprised I'm starving, but because you don't talk about things like that in Panem, especially in District 11.

I continue speaking. "Most of the time, the only food we have at the orphanage is the tesserae all the Reaping-age kids take out, and even that isn't enough to go around. Not to mention that Mr. Fringe and Ms. Dayton beat us constantly." I glare at Dayton and Fringe, who are standing together, looking stunned. I open my mouth to say more, but Mayor Donovan steps in, plucking the microphone from my hand before I'm even aware of what's happening.

"I think it's impressive, isn't it, that District 11 has had its first ever male volunteer, right everyone?" He grins broadly at the silent crowd.

"Alright then." He says, sounding a little flustered. "Time to get the name of this enterprising young man and move on to our next tribute." He inclines the microphone slightly towards me, ready to snatch it away at a moment's notice.

"Coyote Black." I say, making sure the mayor can see my lip curl. He has the decency to look ashamed of his cover-up as he hands the microphone back to Felicia. "Ms. Davis. Our next tribute, please?" He has to grab her shoulders and steer her towards the Reaping bowl with the female names in it because she starts towards the male ones instead. She grabs a fistful of papers out, and throws all but one of them back in. She's silent for a moment before she calls out, "Ivory Plellick!"

Ivory must be an unusual tribute too, because instead of crying, wailing, or begging not to be picked, she saunters up to the stage with a wicked-looking grin on her face. I want to like her for her seeming bravery, but something about her reminds me of Clove, the psychopathic little tribute who tried to kill the Mockingjay during the 74th Games. I eye her warily as she mounts the stage and gives Felicia her name. When they're done talking, Mayor Donovan takes the stage and starts giving a verbal summary of the two rebellions to make up for not watching the videos. While he's talking, Ivory leans towards me and says, "Don't worry. When I kill you, I'll make it quick." I smirk at her arrogance and whisper back, "Don't worry. I'm not planning on making it that long."

"Smart guy." She responds. I don't have the chance to say anything back because Mayor Donovan starts introducing us to the crowd again, and telling them what fine representatives of District 11 we'll be.

Right. After meeting Ivory, I know this much: there may be two Victors allowed this year, if we can trust what President Collins said, but between me and Ivory, only one tribute from District 11 will ever make it out of the arena alive.

And I know it won't be me.


	11. Chapter 11: Killing Us Softly, D13

I want to say I feel sick with apprehension and fear when I wake up because today is Reaping Day, but the truth is that I haven't been able to fall asleep long enough to experience the relief it brings. I keep my eyes closed for now, because I don't want my parents to know I'm awake, and also because I don't want to admit this to myself. After a few seconds, I reconsider. I don't want my parents to wake me up with their sad faces and falsely cheerful voices, trying to pretend that they're not terrified their only daughter will be chosen for her first ever Reaping. It's just better to get up of my own volition.

Today, my surroundings seem just as bleak as my thoughts. Our living compartment is small and gray, devoid of any features that would distinguish it from the thousands of other living compartments in District 13. I'm relieved to see that my parents are still asleep, so I move quietly to the door and slip out into the hall. I jump a little when I see a Peacekeeper hurrying down the hall towards me, but then I realize by the businesslike expression on his face that he probably has somewhere important to go, and I'm an insignificant part of his journey he won't even remember after he passes me.

I step over to the door of the living compartment nearest me and knock lightly. After a few seconds, there is a tentative response. "Hello?"

"It's me." I say just as quietly.

The door opens to reveal my brother Zebedee, five years my senior. Like me, he has short hair that is a nondescript shade of brown, and hazel eyes that stand out against his pale skin. He is a couple inches taller than me, but ever since he lost his leg, he tends to walk a little hunched over, as if he's ashamed of his missing limb. Now, I can almost look him in the eye.

"Can I come in?" I ask, trying not to sound too needy.

He nods in silent assent and I follow him inside.

His living compartment is exactly like the one I share with my parents, except there is one bed instead of two. He sits down on the bed, and I join him, being careful to leave at least a few feet of space between us. I never know what might set off his terrible memories of fighting in the rebellion, but I know that suddenly having someone invade his personal space is pretty high on the list. We sit in silence for a couple minutes. I try not to think about what's going to happen later today.

After a while, he grimaces and rubs the stump of what was once his left leg. I wince in sympathy.

"Sorry." He says quietly.

"For what?" I ask, surprised.

"For being a cripple and a disappointment."

"You're not." I protest.

"We still lost." Despite the shrapnel he took to his left leg, the murderous shards of metal that eventually led to his leg being severed at the knee after he came home, I think the worst part for him is that District 13 is now under the Capitol's control.

I decide to change the subject, or at least steer our conversation in a new direction. "Bad night last night?"

He doesn't look at me. "Not any worse than usual."

I nod. I don't know for sure, but I don't think he's slept through the night since he got back. I suspect his nightmares are the reason he asked to be placed in a separate living compartment after he was released from the hospital. Sometimes, I can hear him screaming through the walls. My parents and I always pretend to be asleep when this happens, because we don't want him to know that we can hear him breaking down. He's always hated being weak in front of other people, and he's ashamed that he relies on us so heavily, especially when he was supposed to return home victorious.

"Do you want your prosthetic?" His fake leg is sitting on the side of the room opposite us, on its side instead of upright. I study its position and realize that this must be the heavy object I heard hitting the wall last night, right after another bout of Zeb's screaming. I also notice the pill bottles on his desk are almost empty, even though he only had them refilled about a week and a half ago. I know one of the bottle contains painkillers, while the other holds capsules meant to relieve Zebedee's near-constant anxiety.

I press my lips together, but I don't say anything. I can tell that Zeb notices. He opens his mouth, but whatever he was about to say is interrupted by a knock on the door. I jump up and hurry to open it.

"Ready?" my father asks. I feel better when I see him. Even though his face has grown more lined and his eyes have become more clouded with worry since the Capitol took over, he hasn't changed. He still works as a mechanic every day, and he's still just as proud of his job as he was before, even if it's not the most prestigious job in the District. Even when he looks at the peacekeepers, his face isn't disfigured by hatred like some of the people in our district.

Once we're in the hallway, we're joined by my mother. At forty-seven, she's only a year younger than my father, but she looks surprisingly young, whereas my father looks older than his age. Even with her hair pulled up into its usual severe bun, I can still see the softness in her eyes and face. After being recruited as a medic during the war, she says she's seen enough violence to fill several lifetimes, let alone one. I don't think she would fight in a war again even in it looked like we could win against the Capitol. I've never asked, but I think she believes I have less chance of getting killed in the Hunger Games after being Reaped than of dying in another Capitol bombing.

I suppress a shudder when I remember the constant strain of being under attack, when the Mockingjay was trying to rescue her lover from the Capitol's clutches. Now that strain is gone, replaced the hungry stares of the peacekeepers, waiting for us to make one misstep so they can kill us all.

 _You're exaggerating, Minerva,_ I remind myself. They're not going to shoot us all. They're just going to randomly pick two of us to be sent to an arena and killed.

"Madison!" My mother turns around to see the source of the voice. Of course, we already know by the curious District 12 lilt that the voice belongs to Helga Stormstrong, the only schoolteacher to survive the destruction of District 12. Since her arrival in District 13, she and my mother have become close friends. Mom was the only teacher left in District 13: after the plague that swept through the district a few years ago and killed most of the District's children, the other teachers resigned in despair. Only my mother stayed in her profession to teach the few of us that were left.

With her long legs, it only takes Ms. Stormstrong a second to catch up to us. "I thought it would help if I walked with you to the Reapings," she explains.

I smile at her. "Why, thank you. We could definitely use a distraction today."

"Absolutely," My mother agrees.

Even though Helga focuses her conversation on me as we walk to the public announcement area where the Reapings are to take place, I have to force myself to keep moving. Until the Mockingjay came to District 13, my life followed a predictable, even peaceful, routine. I miss the calm order of the days before the rebellion; now just making it through the day is a struggle when my whole life has suddenly changed. I thought things changed during the rebellion, but they changed so much more afterwards.

When we reach the ground level of the multi-tiered public announcement area, we make our way past the entrance to the kitchens, where I worked during the war. Up until a few months ago, there was a storage area off of the kitchen for all District 13's food, one that I found myself in often, as one of my duties was helping with cooking. Although the storage area shared a wall with the hallway we're currently walking through, there weren't any doors. Now though, there are several, and all of them are surrounded by peacekeepers.

I guess the rumors are true, then. I had heard that since District 13 was now expected to take part in the Hunger Games, it would only be a matter of time before we had a Victor. As a result, the sprawling storage area is being transformed into what would be referred to in another district as the Victors Village. The Capitol representatives in District 13 have taken to referring this area as The Victors' Suites, from the few scattered conversations I've overheard.

We reach the end of the hallway all too soon, entering the bottom tier of the public announcement area. A few days ago, an edict was issued that said only those eligible for the Reaping and their immediate family are allowed into the bottom tier. Even though the bottom tier is the largest tier, much of the expanse is taken up by the enormous stage that has been erected for the occasion, and hundreds of peacekeepers. I quickly hug my parents and brother good bye, give a quick wave to Ms. Stormstrong, and rapidly stride over to the sixteen-year-old area. There are maybe a dozen other sixteen-year-olds, and I only recognize a few of them. Despite going to school with them for years, I don't talk to them much. School was discontinued during the rebellion, and the students were put into whatever role President Coin thought would best suit their talents. Even before then, I hesitated to become close to anyone my age because most of my friends were killed when the plague swept through our district.

I notice that most of the refugee kids from District 12 look scared but resigned, while the District 13 kids are more expressive: some are crying openly, while others are scowling, with their arms crossed in front of them. Of the ninety of so kids who are assembled for the Reaping, there are less than twenty who grew up in District 13. There would be far more from District 12 if so many people wouldn't have been killed in the bombings.

"Excuse me, miss?" I look up to see a peacekeeper with wild red hair standing in front of me. I jump a little bit, but quickly compose myself.

"Yes?" My voice comes out at a far higher pitch than I expected it too. He smiles reassuringly. He can't be more than eighteen or nineteen, but his easy, confident manner suggests that he has been a peacekeeper for years.

"I just need you to hold out your hand, miss, so I can take your blood in order to ensure that everyone is accounted for. It will be only a moment."

Stunned into silence by the apparent friendliness of the young peacekeeper, I hold out my hand. I feel a jab in the pointer finger of my right hand, and then the encounter is over just as quickly as it began. He moves over to the next person, and I'm left to wonder how someone who is probably from the Capitol can be that friendly and sincere.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! I'm excited to take part in District 13's first-ever Reaping!" Natasha Henderson, who is governor and head peacekeeper of our district, shouts into one of the two microphones on the stage. She is quickly joined by Selma Severson, our newly-appointed district escort. From what I've heard, she is apparently the youngest escort as well, at only twenty-two years old. Though she looks friendly enough, and she's not dressed in the insane fashions the Capitolites favor, something about her posture reminds me of a soldier: alert and ready.

Our Reaping ceremony goes much, much more quickly than I would like it to, since we only have to watch the most recent video of the rebellion, and even that doesn't happen, since the video stalls halfway through and refuses to play. After a minute of two of various technical workers trying to get it to replay, Natasha Henderson orders Selma to pick the tributes.

Selma nods and goes over to the glass bowl that is labeled with a large red "F". I notice every girl in my section, me included, is holding her breath. Selma unfolds the paper.

"Minerva Sinclair!"

For a second, my mind freezes, too shocked to process what it has just heard. I can feel my lungs constricting, and spots begin to appear in front of my eyes. Then I see a couple peacekeepers start towards me, and I'm able to break out of my daze enough to head for the stage. Even though the walk is short, it seems long, and all I can think is, _I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do_. When I get to the stage, I shaking so much that I can hardly mount the steps. I can feel tears rising to my eyes as I approach Selma and my certain death, but I push them down because I want so, so badly to wait until I'm alone to cry.

Everything afterwards is a blur. I blurt my name into the microphone when Selma offers it too me, and I don't even notice when the male tributes is called up. I just stay frozen in place, sure of only one thing: my life will never be the same again.

 _If_ I manage to survive the Games.


	12. Living a Lie

_Julian Arviados, Official Presidential Aide and Undercover Assassin_

"This is unbelievable." Titania said, as she watched the girl from District 10 volunteer.

Julian shrugged, preferring to remain noncommittal. They were watching the Reapings, and all of them had been mildly surprised when the boy from 3 volunteered. The rest of the Reapings had been fairly typical up until this point.

"I'm sure she had her reasons." Lidia noted. For a Head Gamemaker, she was surprisingly unperturbed about the surprise volunteers.

Titania looked like she was about to argue, but was interrupted by the boy from 11's rant about starving. Julian held back a smile as he watched her face change from surprise to confusion to indignation. He had always admired Titania's ability to hide her emotions, but this time, it seemed, she was just too appalled by the events of this year's Reapings.

"We can't have orphans starving in 11!" She exclaimed hotly. "Think about what this will do to my image!"

Lidia shrugged. "Whatever. I'm just focused on running the Games, not the country."

Judging by the look of annoyance on her face, Titania was used to her cousin's now-typical chilliness towards her. Julian was also accustomed to it as well by this point. The rivalry that was developing between the two meant that he would have to pick a side, and soon. For now though, he needed to focus on alleviating the tension between the two women long enough for all of them to figure out the significance behind the volunteers.

"They're a threat." Titania snapped at Lidia.

Lidia made a huge show of rolling her eyes. "They're tributes. Twenty-one of them are going to die anyways, so it all turns out the same. If you wouldn't have changed the damn Games, there would be more tributes, which would offset the number of volunteers. Not to mention that twenty-three of them would ultimately die, instead of only twenty-one."

Titania ignored her cousin's barb for the time being. Instead, she stood up and began to pace. "This is terrible. Because of that little bastard, we might have riots in 11 again, and who knows what's going on if three tributes from the Outer Districts actually volunteered?"

Julian glanced at Lidia, who looked disgusted with the fact that her cousin wasn't even paying attention to the District 13 Reapings that were now playing. Of course, they could always watch the reruns later, but Titania was too busy worrying about the volunteers. He decided it was time to establish himself as a potential ally to Lidia. Being careful to make eye contact with Lidia beforehand, he made a face at Titania's back as she paced. When she turned to face them again, he raised his hand. "May I suggest something?"

Titania sighed exasperatedly, but stopped pacing. "What?"

"Why are we so worried if we don't have any information yet? I know you're worried that the volunteer tributes may have been planted by a rebellion, but there could be plenty of other reasonable explanations. Including coincidence."

If the look Titania gave him was any indication, she didn't believe the volunteers were a coincidence at all. "Unfortunately, that's information we don't have," she all but snarled.

"Exactly. Which is why I'm suggesting that you obtain that information."

"Are you trying to suggest that I should simply stroll up to the tributes and ask them about their very _interesting_ tributes for volunteering?"

"In a way, yes." Julian responded. A flicker of interest crossed Titania's face. "How would I go about that?" she asked carefully.

Julian leaned forward in his chair. "Well, let's start with a novel concept…"


	13. Moving On (Larissa's Goodbyes)

**Hi everyone, it's THE NARRATOR here. I just want to thank you all for being such fabulous readers and sticking with this story even when it slowed down or hasn't been the best. We are now entering the goodbye scenes, which are going to be difficult to write, at least for me. According to the poll, you want me to write them for some of the characters, but not all, so that's what I will do. Without further ado, here's Larissa!**

Although the room in the Justice Building is opulent, even by District 1 standards, I'm too agitated to pay any any attention to the detour. For the first time since I decided to volunteer six months ago, I'm having second thoughts. Avalon was good, even better than me, and even she died. What was I thinking, going in to avenge her? Sure, I can kill as many tributes as I can, but if someone gets to District 4's tributes before me, what's the point? And what does killing two random people who may not have even known Annie Cresca do, anyways? Prove District 1 is stronger than District 4, which everyone knows anyways? Show that if you kill someone in the Hunger Games, that person's younger sibling may go into the arena to kill the tributes from that particular district?

Everything is just so, so… _pointless_.

I come to a complete stop in my pacing, and whirl around, mentally ordering myself to stop thinking these thoughts. _It's just last-minute nerves,_ I tell myself.

It's a good thing that Avalon's death taught me to pull myself together so quickly, because my family bursts through the door the second my face returns to its usual expression. My mother, who is usually so busy trying to keep everyone in order and care for them, rushes over to me and hugs me so tightly I can barely breathe. When she pulls away, I see her face is tear-streaked. I decide to try and lighten the mood a little.

"I hope they don't have any boa constrictors in the arena." I joke. "I don't think they could hold a candle to Mom, though."

My father shoots me a look that says this joke was not the best idea.

My view of my parents is abruptly blocked when Caleb steps in front of me. "Larissa," he says firmly, grabbing my arms for emphasis, "come back." His eyes are pleading, but his gaze never wavers. I'm the one who averts my eyes first. I suddenly feel guilty for putting him through this pain again. He was just as close to Avalon as I was, maybe even closer.

Without warning, he pulls me to him and squeezes me even more tightly than my mother did. "I love you, Larissa." He says into my hair.

Alright. Enough already. This outpouring of love is getting suffocating, and I need to be stoic if I'm going to survive the Games-

Wait. Not survive the Games. _Win_ them.

I step back to put some distance between me and Caleb.

"Everyone, back off please." I say it politely enough, but my voice is much, much colder than it should be, considering I'm speaking to my family.

I see the look of shock on my mother's face, and then the pain that quickly replaces it. My father's face wavers for only a second, and I can really only tell he is in pain by his eyes. Caleb, who's always been my strong older brother, is staring at the floor, obviously trying not to cry.

"I love you, and I will miss you all." My voice comes out a little gentler this time. "If you want me to win, I'll need you guys to hold it together, okay? My survival is-will be-dependent on sponsors, and I know all of you know enough people to get me some extra supplies, even beyond what the academy will send."

My mother nods, even as she brushes a tear from her cheek. "Please don't go rogue, sweetheart." she says.

I nod. Every decade or so, a Career decides to leave the pack early, sometimes killing someone on the way out, sometimes not. However, the Career decides to leave, and for whatever reasons he or she decides to break, things almost never end well.

I survey my family and decide I might as well get used to talking like I'm in charge. You never know who will end up as the unofficial head of the Career path, and if it's me, I want to be prepared.

"I'll give each of you another hug." I say, looking each one of them in the eye. "When I'm finished, I want all of you to leave. _Do not_ spend the day crying. I'm either going to come home as Victor or I'm not, so there's no point in worrying about what will happen."

My parents and brother give their assent, ignoring the fact that I basically just recited the Ninth Truth of the Hunger Games. The hugs we give each other are full of feeling, but I'm careful to pull away before anyone gets too emotional.

Then they leave. I manage to stay composed for about three-and-a-half seconds before I collapse on the sofa in tears. What have I done? I'm leaving my family behind so I can go fight to the death in the competition that killed my sister. The Games has taken enough from my family, but I'm giving it more. I wonder if I don't deserve to die for having so little regard for my life.

A knock at the door startles me into wiping off my face with my sleeve. I know Lance sees quickly finish wiping up the last of the tears, but he tactfully chooses not to say anything.

"The first thing I would like to say is, I'm not just here to say goodbye to you." He says, pulling me to my feet.

"Then what else are you here for?" I say, rolling my eyes. I try not to think of what he might be here to say, but part of me is already hoping.

He doesn't waste any time. "I'm in love with you."

I'm not sure I believe him. "What?"

"I've had a crush on you for a long time. You're gorgeous, smart, funny, and kind. I never knew what to say to you that wouldn't make you laugh at me,"-that's true, most days his sense of humor is unparalleled-"and now I have to say something." His face sobers at the last part.

"I don't know what to say." I really don't.

"You could say my name. You know, the way Kiernan used to when she was upset with me?" Kiernan Browning is one of the District Victors, but she spends most of her time in the training center and only rarely goes to the Capitol.

"Lance. Lance Milano." Even as I say it, I realize that I'm not just saying the name of my childhood best friend and crush anymore. I'm saying the name of someone who might be someone more than that. If I make it home.

He grins. "Larissa Belmont, I have something else for you." Without warning, he suddenly gets down on one knee.

 _Oh Lance, no._ I can't have this happen to me on top of everything else. Besides, he declared his love for me literally ten seconds ago. He's always been reckless, but this is too much.

As soon as he knee hits the ground though, he smirks. "Gotcha! You should've seen your face!"

"Lance!" I slap his arm. "I thought you were actually proposing. Now get up off the ground!"

Apparently, Lance being on one knee in front of me is something the whole world needs to see, because Amalia and Esther suddenly burst through the door. Their eyes widen at the sight, and Lance sighs in mock exasperation.

"Who let you in?" I ask. Typically, new visitors aren't supposed to come until the old ones leave.

"Officer Cavanaugh let us in because he knew your family wasn't in here anymore." Amalia explains. Esther rolls her eyes. Officer Cavanaugh is the youngest, newest Peacekeeper, and he and Amalia are smitten with each other.

"This isn't what it looks like." Lance assures them. "Although I did just declare my love for Larissa a couple minutes ago. If you two ladies want to take a seat, I will be more than happy to continue with what I was trying to say before I was so rudely interrupted."

Amalia and Esther plop themselves down on the couch obligingly and Lance returns his attention to me. "I'm not proposing marriage to you, but I did want to do something special to ask if you would be my girlfriend when you get back." He pulls a long silver chain with a sapphire attached out of his pocket.

At the sight of the necklace, my eyes fill with tears, and my hands fly to cover my mouth. "That's Avalon's." I whisper through the sobs that are threatening to overwhelm me. The necklace isn't just something Avalon wore; it was her token during her Games. My father was the one who mined the sapphire, Avalon's birthstone, while my mother crafted it into an attractive piece of jewelry. Now that I think about it, it must have come back with Avalon's body, but I never thought about it until this moment.

Amalia, who can never be quiet for more than a minute, blurts, "Where did you get it?"

Lance directs his answer to me. "Your parents had it for years, but Caleb filched it sometime in the last couple days. He apparently knows about how much I like you, because he told me to give it to you when I tell you."

Volunteering for the Hunger Games. Lance confessing his feelings for me. Saying goodbye to my family. Seeing my friends for what may be the last time in my life. I can't help it. I start to sob in a way that I haven't since I watched Avalon in her throes.

 **I'm sorry if this chapter was a little weird, or if it ended in an odd place. It's just hard to write goodbye chapters (not that I would know, since this is my first one), and there didn't seem to be a good place to end. I hope you guys liked it. Please review!**


	14. Chapter 14: Never Easy (Maia's Goodbyes)

**Is it possible to win a prize for writing the weirdest goodbye scenes in a SYOT? Because if it is, I think I would probably win it.**

 **Seriously guys, I'm sorry if your character was weird or OOC in their goodbye chapter. I try to write the usual heart-wrenching scenes, and then I find myself doing something like this. If it's bad, let me know via review (without flaming, please). If it's good, please drop a review saying so.**

 **Also, somebody remind me to talk about submitting mentors soon, because I have some important things to say about that.**

 _Maia Reese, District 6, Age 15_

 _I'm going into the Hunger Games with my worst enemy._

Repeating it over and over again won't make it untrue.

I sit on the dingy sofa in what is supposed to be one of the nicer rooms of the Justice Building, directly across from a bust with its nose broken off. The nameplate beneath it reads "Julius Ceasar".

I bite my lip at every sound in the hallway, wincing as I think about what my mother might have done after Gene and I were hustled to the Justice Building. Deep down, I know she wouldn't do anything life-threatening if she still has a toddler to take care of, but I still find myself fighting the urge to cry as I think of my father dead on the ground after Cooper's Reaping. We didn't even get to say goodbye to Cooper that day because I ran to get a healer while my mother stayed by Dad's side, trying to staunch the bleeding. She found out she was pregnant with Jessica nine days into the Games, three days after Cooper died.

I jump as the door of the room slams open and Ria comes rushing in, holding Jessica. I can feel the blood draining from my face as I leap to my feet and blurt, "What happened?"

Ria cringes, and I know she doesn't want to answer me. In one stride, I've closed the distance between us. I grab her shoulders. " _What happened_?" The urgency in my voice is overpowering this time.

"Right after the male tribute was Reaped, your Mom ran over to me and shoved Jessica into my arms. Then, as you guys were being taken to the Justice Building, she walked up behind a female peacekeeper, grabbed her ponytail, and pulled her to the ground. Before the peacekeeper even hit the ground, a group of peacekeepers jumped on her and cuffed her. The last I saw, she was being dragged towards the prison building." Ria's explanation comes out in a rush.

 _The prison building._ One of the many places in District 6 no one wants to go, the prison building is on the top of the list of undesirable places. If she was being taken there, it can't be good.

"I've got to go see her." For the second time that day, I push Ria away. I head towards the door, intending to open it, but Ria grabs my shirt and pulls me back.

"You can't stop me." I say, easily breaking loose. The door, of course, is locked. Suddenly, I feel as though my veins are made of liquid fury, and I alternate between furiously banging on the door and rattling the doorknob, all while screaming every curse word and insult I know at the peacekeeper who is stationed outside. After a couple minutes of what I know is a useless exercise, I begin to punch the door instead.

As angry as I am, I'm not dumb enough to think that the door will just suddenly give way, so I'm surprised when it suddenly flies open to reveal Mrs. Baker standing there, breathing heavily. An exasperated-looking peacekeeper with heavy jowls and thinning hair is standing behind her. "She's been hammering on the door for the past couple minutes, ma'am," he says grimly as he ushers her inside.

As soon as the door click shuts behind him, Mrs. Baker pulls me into a hug and holds me there. "Your mother is fine," She whispers hurriedly into my ear, "she was going to be charged with assaulting a peacekeeper, but I managed to talk Misha Andrews into persuading her uncle into dropping the charges." Misha Andrews is the only niece of the mayor, and also the apple of his eye, since he has only sons.

I pull away from her at the news and stare at her in astonishment. "How?" I ask. Misha may not be the meanest person in school, but she understands the primary rule of survival in District 6: unless you're very close with someone, you don't agree to do something for them without getting anything in return. As far as I know, she and Mrs. Baker are not particularly close.

Mrs. Baker looks at the floor. I hear Ria gasp, and then I understand: she bribed Misha by giving her a better grade in class. I start to say that she shouldn't have, that the risk is too great, but I'm interrupted by Jessica toddling over to me and shoving something soft and furry against my leg.

"Mimi!" she cries, using the only nickname for me that she can say.

I look down to see both Jessica and Vine looking up at me. Vine has actually sunk her claws into the fabric of my pants, nervous at her new surroundings. Jessica is barely holding on to her with one hand.

"I bot you todden!" she announces proudly. I feel my heart begin to ache, and Mrs. Baker's and Ria's eyes begin to shine. Jessica may not know that I almost certainly won't be going back, but she knows enough to understand that when someone leaves, you give him or her something to remember you by. It doesn't help that even in Jessica's preschool, her friends are in the habit of giving each other "tokens" as they leave for the day, because they see their older siblings do it. Doing so is a habit I never got into, as Ria is my only close friend, and we see each other constantly.

Except now I will probably never see her again.

The goodbyes that follow Jessica's present are so painful I don't want to remember them. Ria hugs me and cries. Mrs. Baker hugs me and cries. Even Jessica hugs me and cries, when she realizes that she can't give Vine to me, and that I'm going away for a long, long, time.

By the time Ria, her mother, and Jessica leave, I feel so drained and exhausted that I can't function any more. Even though the clock says I have less than two minutes until the peacekeepers come in to get me, I curl up on the sofa and fall asleep.

 **Well. There it is. I don't know if the way I'm writing these chapters, which is a much different way than I have ever seen them done, is a good thing or a bad thing. All I know is that I have an article to write for my school paper now, and that I would really, really like it if you guys could just maybe, possibly, leave some reviews? I know I'm practically begging here, but if I'm screwing up or doing something really great and interesting, I want to know about it.**

 **Thank you to everyone who reads this! You're great!**

 **-LHP**


	15. Open Wounds Need Salt

**Sorry for the long absence, guys. School is kicking my butt. Again, there is some police brutality in the upcoming chapter, so TRIGGER WARNING: POLICE BRUTALITY.**

 **Also, mentors. They're important, and the time where they play a big part in the story is approaching quickly. I'll elaborate more on this in the next chapter, so stay tuned.**

 _Rufus Ash, District 7, Age 18_

I hate being in a jail cell. It reminds me of the last time I was here, right before I had my right hand cut off. In fact, I think I'm just a few doors down from the cell I was in before the peacekeepers came to drag me to the courtyard where they lopped my hand off.

I struggle to my feet, which is hard, since both my wrists are still cuffed behind me. I can still feel the soreness from the mysterious shock I was given, lingering in my muscles.

Just as I'm moving away from the wall that I'm using to support myself, the door to my cell flies open and Reika Snow marches in, Veriche and the large Peacekeeper close behind. Veriche leaps across the room and grabs me by the front of my shirt while the large Peacekeeper shuts and locks the door behind him.

Veriche slams me into the wall, and pain explodes through my skull. Before I can recover from the shock and pain, I find myself gasping for air as Veriche's knee slams into my midsection. He's pulling back his fist to hit me again when I realize something.

The handcuffs on my wrists are meant for people with two hands. Veriche just moved the other cuff higher up on my right arm, the one with the missing hand. However, it's slipped, and now it's loose enough for me to pull me right arm out.

Veriche isn't expecting my stump to suddenly appear from behind my back, or for me to use it to block his incoming blow while punching him in the throat with my left hand, which is no longer restrained behind my back.

It takes a second for the large Peacekeeper from the Reaping to recognize that shit is going down, and by that time, I've kicked him in the groin and elbowed him in the face while kicking his feet out from under him. Once he's on the ground, it's a simple matter to take the club hanging from his belt. I swing around and slam it into the side of Veriche's head as he charges me. He hits the ground hard, but he isn't out yet. I hit him over the head again, and he slumps to the ground.

Meanwhile, the large guard has grabbed my ankle, and is trying to pull me down. I allow myself to fall, but position myself so my knee slams into his chest when I hit him. While he's recovering from that, I smack him in the side of the head with the club, then pull the black object out of his belt. It only takes me a second or two to figure out how to work it, and then I jab it into his shoulder, just as he did to me.

Suddenly, I'm on the ground, and Veriche is on top of me. "You really think I was out?" he taunts as he pulls out his own black object. I mentally curse myself for being stupid enough not to remove it from his belt when I had the chance. He grins and shoves the object into my shoulder. I feel the same pain as before as he says, "Goodnight, you stupid little shit. Have a nice nap."

Before I lose consciousness for the second time that day, I only have time to think that I'm not going to miss District 7 at all.


	16. Peace is Crushed, Goodwill is Gone

**Hey Everybody!**

 **So, as you can tell, it's been a while since I posted my last chapter. Taking my atrociously slow posting speed into consideration, I think it's time to ask you, my readers, about the level of detail in this story and where we want to go from here. Many of the positive comments I receive praise the level of detail and the interaction between the characters, while any negative ones are about the time in between posts. In other words, I'm putting up two polls. The first will ask whether you would like to be read about the train rides to the Capitol (these would be through the viewpoints of different tributes than the ones who were Reaped), and the second will be about whose goodbye scenes you would like to see (of the Reaped tributes. I know that a lot of you probably aren't looking at my story on a regular basis, and with good reason, but if you are reading this, please vote. I don't have a lot of views, follows, or favorites, so any input you provide will have a huge impact. With that being said, enjoy the chapter!**

"Xavier, I don't know what to do!" Violet sobs, her arms wrapped around my neck. I pat her back awkwardly, trying to think of something to say to comfort her.

"How can I help them?!" She wails. I know she's referring to the rest of my family, who are waiting right outside the door, under the watchful eye of a peacekeeper. My family may be close, despite the long hours my parents spend working, but they also know that each person will want to say goodbye to me individually.

I carefully detach myself from Violet, who also happens to be the first person to say goodbye to me, then stand up and put my hands on her shoulders. "Listen, Vi. You are hands-down the sweetest person I know, and that's great. But sometimes you have to be tough, okay? You're going to have to be really, really tough for the next few weeks. I'll try my hardest to make it out of the Games, but I can't promise anything." Violet starts crying again when I'm halfway through my speech, and I suddenly find it very difficult to continue. "Mom and Dad's first priority will be keeping you guys fed, same as usual, which means your job will be taking care of Preston and Phoebe, got it?" She nods. "Good. Use that to keep you going, and don't let Mom and Dad use any money to send me any gifts in the Games, do you understand?" She nods again, but her face is crumpling this time. "Good. Now just know that I love you and will do whatever I can to get back to you." I hug her tightly and then give her a push towards the door. I need to get her out before I start sobbing again.

In the brief moments in between Violet's exit and Preston's entrance, I bury my head in my hands. I don't want Violet to work too hard, but I don't want her to fall apart either.

 _Steady,_ I remind myself as my throat begins to close and I hear the door creak open. Preston is standing in the doorway, looking awkwardly around the room. I suspect he isn't looking at me because he doesn't want to burst into tears. I gesture for him to come over. He unexpectedly bounds across the room and wraps his arms around me in the same way Violet did only a couple minutes ago.

"What am I gonna do?" He says, his face buried in my shoulder.

I sigh. The What-Am-I-Gonna-Do theme is beginning to wear on me-I don't know how much more of this I can take.

I gently pry him away from me and hold him at arm's length. "Listen to Violet, okay? Mom and Dad will still be working a lot during the beginning of the Games, so she'll be watching you most of the time. Try to talk Phoebe out of getting into trouble too." Preston is the older of the twins, and has somehow managed to use this to influence Phoebe. I'm hoping I can use it for good.

Preston takes a deep breath, an attempt to steady himself much like the one I made earlier. "I have to tell you something important."

"What's that?"

Even though we're alone in the room, he leans close to my ear and whispers, "I like you better than Dad. You sleep less."

Preston has somehow managed to accomplish the impossible: make me smile in these dire circumstances. I don't get a chance to reply though, because as soon as he makes that confession, he's gone.

I'm not too surprised that the next person to show up is my mother. Despite the long, grueling hours she spends at the textile factory, she's always made an effort to show her love for us by preparing our meals beforehand so we didn't have to cook them ourselves and telling us she loves us-when she's not asleep. I know that she regrets not spending much time with us, which is what she tells me as soon as she walks through the door. She also tells me that Phoebe doesn't want to come say goodbye to me, as she wants to "remember me from before the Reaping". Since she probably feels bad about what she just told me, she proceeds to do what probably ever mother who has ever sent a child to the Games has done: tell me that I can win. I go along with her optimism, trying to use it to convince her not to send me gifts in the arena. By the time she leaves with a falsely upbeat farewell, I think I might have gotten through, but I'm not sure.

My father is the last family member to come in and see me. Unlike my mother, he doesn't try to shield me from the gravity of the situation. The first words out of his mouth are literally, "Son, can you kill someone if your life depends on it?"

"What?" I thought he was here to say goodbye, not tell me to kill.

"Much as I would like to tell you what a joy it's been raising you all these years, I want to focus on the future, and that means knowing that you'll do what it takes to get out of the arena without being encased in a box."

I square my shoulders and look him straight in the eye. "I will only promise you that I will kill someone if you promise me that you will _not_ send me any supplies in the arena. Don't let Mom send sponsor gifts. If someone else from the district wants to do it, or if somebody puts together a pool, than its fine for you to contribute. If I'm starving or need supplies, I'll kill someone and take whatever they have."

My father nods his head. "Good. That's the right spirit. If you keep thinking like that, there's a chance you'll come home." Forty-five minutes after being Reaped, I'm already turning into a monster.

Dad sees the look on my face and says, "I know it's a horrible choice, Xavier. You can only fight the monsters inside you or the ones surrounding you. You can't take both at once."

I know he's right, but it doesn't make this any less difficult. Before I know what's happening, my face starts crumpling and tears are running down my face. It takes a good ten minutes for my father to help me pull myself back together, and by then, someone else is knocking at the door.

"Be brave. You can do this." My father gives my shoulder a quick squeeze, and then leaves without looking back. He and Tristen, my friend from the factory, give each other a nod as they pass each other in the doorway.

I'm not too surprised to see Tristen here-after all, he is my only close friend-and I'm not too surprised at what he says next, either. He tries to convince me that I will be missed in the factory. I know this isn't true, that Tristan is the only person I've really gotten close to over the past few years of working there, despite the fact that I have received several compliments from my supervisors for my work. After this exchange, we lapse into silence until the peacekeepers come to escort him out. It's only when he's already out the door that I realize nobody gave me a token. My family must have forgotten, what with the announcement about District 8 only having to send a male tribute in, and the accompanying devastation of my Reaping. Tristan probably assumed my family gave me something.

 _It doesn't matter_ , I think to myself, as two peacekeepers escort me down the hall. The important thing is to come home. Alive.


	17. Chapter 17

"Bernard, _what the heck is wrong with you_?" my older brother Wyatt roars.

I stare at him in surprise. Heck, if I weren't so shocked, I would probably flinch. Never, ever, in all my life, have I seen Wyatt angry. He's always amiable, completely dependable, and so content with the life he leads that he makes me sick. I'll be his age in eight years-assuming I live through the Games-but you won't see me acting like him when I'm twenty-three. No. Freaking. Way.

"Are you even listening to your brother?" Father growls. He seems just as upset about my current mindset as Wyatt is, but he's being quieter about it.

"What?" I demand. "All I said was that it will be an interesting challenge. That's all. Besides, what's wrong with a little break from routine?" My family stares at me like I've suddenly turned into a mutation. Even Olivia, whom I used to be able count on to back me up in situations like these, is giving me a blank look. Up until she joined the rebellion and went to work in a field hospital during the war, she was a lot of fun. In fact, she was my fellow adventurer, my partner in crime, even with the five year gap between our ages. Now, she's shell shocked, and "still getting over what she saw", according to my parents, which to me means she's become a boring older sister.

"This 'little break from routine' could get you killed." Marshall, who thinks he knows everything because he's two years older than me, glowers at me as he says this.

My mother finally speaks for the first time since my family has entered the room. "Bernard," she says, her voice quivering, "Your optimism is wonderful, but if you don't watch out, you will get yourself killed. You're going into the Games now. This is _life and death_."

I'm beginning to long for my life before the Reaping this morning, boring as it was. At least I didn't have people struggling not to sob as they _dramatically emphasized certain words_ to convey a point they think I'm not getting.

"Guys, I know the Games can be really bad and all, but I don't want to look at it as an execution. It's a challenge that I can overcome. I'm not going to be like the Careers and think of it as an opportunity, but entering the Games is a risk I have to take now, and I'm not going to tear myself up thinking about it." Wow, do I sound mature. My name was only called twenty minutes ago and I'm already growing up.

My family still doesn't think so. Wyatt takes a deep breath, as though he's trying to steel himself for what he's about to say, and then proceeds to deliver the most generic, boring advice in the history of the Games: "Whatever you do, do _not_ stick around for the Bloodbath. No matter what your mentor says, no matter what you think, no matter what you feel, get out."

I try not to roll my eyes. Like Wyatt has personal experience being in the Hunger Games to go off of.

"Son," Father says, his voice sharp, " _listen_ to your brother. The Bloodbath is one of the deadliest parts of the Games, and he has much more experience watching them than you do." There's the unnecessary emphasis on words again.

"Guys," I say again, trying to sound more chipper and less angry than I actually am, "I've got this, okay? Plenty of tributes run into the Bloodbath and still come out alive. I'll be fine."

Father looks like someone punched him in the gut, Mother is already crying, and Olivia is still staring blankly.

"Bernard, if you do that, you won't make it out alive. You _can't_ do it." Wyatt emphasizes again.

"I've worked in a field and handled a sickle. I can do it. Don't tell me otherwise." I cross my arms and square my shoulders while maintaining eye contact, letting him know I'm serious.

Wyatt looks like he's about to start yelling again, but Marshall suddenly interjects. "How about you just let me talk to him for a couple of minutes?"

"I'm right here," I mention. "You can include me in the conversation."

"He's right." Mother turns to me. "Bernard? Would you prefer that we stay in here together, or would you and Marshall like a few minutes alone together?"

I think for a couple seconds before giving my answer, which is unusual for me. Much as I enjoy debating with a group of people, I like one-on-one arguments more. If I can convince Marshall I'm right, then I only have four other people to convince.

"Sure," I say, "but he's not going to convince you any more than you have."

Father goes over to the door and opens it. "We're leaving now, but we're coming back in a couple minutes." I can't hear what the peacekeeper stationed outside the door says, but I know he'll say yes. My parents have a great reputation in the district: they work hard, they're content with the life they have, and they never really supported the rebellion, even when the rebels took over. They've told me hundreds of times that people need food no matter what's going on, and that once you have enough to provide for your family, you shouldn't ask for more. They're the Capitol's dream citizens, but they're pretty boring, just like my life.

My family files out almost immediately, leaving us alone. I'm the first to speak. "No matter what you say, I'm going into the Bloodbath."

Marshall's shoulders sag. "That's not what I'm here to talk to you about."

"It isn't?" For once, I'm so surprised I don't have an elaborate response.

"Nope. I just want to tell you what everyone else is forgetting to tell you, because they're all too busy trying to argue with you, which I know is pointless."

I always knew Marshall was smart. "What's that?"

"They love you. I love you. We love you. I can keep going on with pronouns, but I think you get the point."

"I do, and I love you back, but I'm not changing my mind on the Bloodbath."

Marshall sighs in exasperation. "That's not what I'm here about. I'm not telling you what to do, I'm just telling you how to decide what strategy to use."

"Great. More advice. That's exactly what I need."

"I'm not like you, Bernard. I hate arguments and I'm timid." I'm so surprised that he's talking about himself instead of telling me what I need to do differently that I don't interrupt. "If I were in the Games, I would try and keep a low profile. Not get into arguments with other tributes. Run away from the Bloodbath. But I'm not you. I know you're competitive, and you like to win, and you really like it when other people find out they're wrong. So, whatever you decide to do, make sure it's a strategy that will work for you with your personality. If you think that running into the Bloodbath will do that, fine."

For the first time I can remember, I'm speechless. "So you're telling me I should stay at the Cornucopia?"

"No, I'm telling you that you should stay at the Cornucopia if that's what works best for Bernard Hancock. Some people change in the arena to survive, but others become more of what they already are." He lowers his voice. "Katniss Everdeen was already a survivor. She became more of one. Peeta Mellark was a nice guy when he went in, and he just kept being nice."

"But they died during the Rebellion." I point out.

"They survived the Games, though. Just keep being who you are Bernard, and only change it if you think it's necessary to help you survive."

I'm floored. Marshall's tendency to think about everything before he does it is something I've always found annoying, but now that I know he has insights like these, I'm beginning to think there may be merit to acting the way he does. All at once, I realize how much I'll miss him. I suddenly lunge forward and hug him, surprising myself. He hugs me back. "Stay safe out there."

Just as we break apart, the rest of our family comes spilling back into the room. "The Peacekeeper says we can have a couple extra minutes to say goodbye." Mother says.

"So I guess this is goodbye, then?" Olivia speaking surprises everyone.

"This is it." Father swallows hard, and I realize he's trying not to cry. "We love you, Son. Always remember that."

"I love you guys too." I respond. Everything's getting blurry, and my throat is closing up.

Wyatt, who's standing behind my parents, shoves through them and hugs me. Once he does, everyone else joins in, and soon I'm in danger of being smothered to death by my boring, but loving family. I'll actually miss them, but winning the Hunger Games will be worth having to leave them.


	18. Chapter 18: Quite a Stir (Minerva, D13F)

**Hi, it's me again. I have another chapter written, but it's an incredibly short one. However, we can now be done with the Reaping scenes, which were mostly fun, and the goodbye scenes. I'm not gonna lie: the goodbye scenes are a major pain in my ass, and the main reason this story keeps getting put off. That, and the purgatory that is senior year of college. I do intend to start updating more frequently, but I'm not going to give a strict time frame. Now, I can either start the train rides, or go back to Titania and Co. That's all I have to say for now.**

 _Minerva Sinclair, District 13, Age 17_

I take a shaky breath as the door closes behind me. I don't really remember the male who ended up on the stage with me. All I remember is being hustled off the stage and down a hall located behind it. Along the way, someone realized that District 13, having never participated in the Games before, didn't have a Justice Building with a room set apart for goodbyes. Someone had the bright idea of sticking me in a large-storage-closet-turned-Peacekeeper-breakroom, but I think someone's going to get fired for this oversight.

 _That would be a lot better than the situation I'm in,_ I think, and that's when the shock subsides, allowing the sheer horror of the situation to hit me all at once. I grit my teeth to hold back the scream that tears itself loose from my throat, and before I know it, I'm wailing on the floor.

The door flies open, and I somehow register that the Peacekeeper standing in the doorway is the same polite redhead from earlier. He looks shocked and frightened. "We need a medic!" Given the sound of several running feet, his yell is bringing several people.

But I don't remember what happens when they get to me, because I pass out.


End file.
